40°49’37.0”N 47°42’45.1”E
Qəbələ International Airport
20.05.2024 – 22.30 UTC +04.00

“What did you say?”

Ramin stared at me. His eyes darted left and right, and then he leaned forward.

“Keep your voice low, Nisy. What the hell? I said: no plane is going anywhere. We need a change of plans.”

“Why?” I did not understand, or rather, my mind was still wandering about the vision of a storm of Starlings I had just witnessed. I tried to push away the thoughts and focus on my surroundings.

Ramin waved, showing me the crowd around us. I looked around, confused – I had never been to an airport before. I assumed this chaos was usual, but it was not. Large screens mounted on pillars next to us informed everyone around us on the status of the flights.

DELAYED. CANCELLED. DELAYED. DELAYED. CANCELLED.

More and more people were gathering only to see a bright red DELAYED next to their flight’s number. Some were throwing a fit, others tried to maintain their calm.

“For the love of whatever god. We are never going to Italy at this rate,” a young man said to his hollering friends, all of them wearing flowered shirts, their faces flicking back and forth from the large screens and their phones. I saw one of them, their face contorted with the sadness of a missed celebration, perhaps. He raised his eyes to meet mine, and I turned back to Ramin.

“What is this?” I asked.

Ramin was equally unsettled. He held our two counterfeit boarding passes in his hand. All the trickery and hexing were for naught.

A woman in a long skirt started fighting with an airport clerk. I tried to ignore her bickering, as more and more people raised their voices around us.

“Can’t you see?” Ramin said, “All flights are delayed for at least a couple of hours due to a storm.”

“A storm,” I said at the same time, waking up to reality. Starling’s army was bringing a storm with them. Not for cover, but for distraction. Grounding everything. I lowered my voice: “I get it now, Ramin. I saw it. I was outside, and they were too. They are riding this storm and are about to come here. We need to leave this place. We thought we could get away, but we can’t.”

I looked to our right, the closed gates, the long glass windows, the grounded airplanes, and the storm coming from the West.

“We can’t. We will find another way then,” I said. I stood up, prompting him to stand up as well. He was at a loss for words as he raised his hands and turned them like a showman, illustrating the situation around us. The crowd was growing larger as more and more gates were canceling boarding.

“Where do we go? We just passed security,” he said, and then he winced. He tried to stretch his arm as he stood up. “I really feel terrible. I am in no condition to run. I am tired, maybe, but my shoulder hurts after the hit earlier today. It hurts… too much.”

“Let me see.” I gently turned him around. I pulled his shirt a bit, just so that I could see his shoulder. Black blood was pooling where he had previously been hit. “There is blood again. The wound opened.”

“That’s not possible, it must be just a leftover stain or something,” Ramin said, but I could feel in his voice the worry of being wrong. I had also seen the wound completely heal hours ago, courtesy of his Shadow heritage. Had it not been healed? Was it reversing?

“No. The wound is opening again.”

Was it Hokumə’s doing? I remembered my Farsight, how it was abruptly stopped. It looked like mirrors shattering and obstructing my Cursed vision. And then the posters outside the airport: SEE A CURSE, REPORT A CURSE. That was not Hokumə. It was something else. I looked up.

“Is this your friend’s Curse?” Ramin asked, going through the same train of thought.

“She is not my friend.”

“Get out of my way!” A suited man carrying a suitcase shoved us, trying to get to the gate. The crowd turned louder and rowdier by the minute, the collective desperation taking over their civil thought. I glanced at him only to find a sense of pity inside me for him. I turned my attention to the ceiling.

Newly installed, if I were to judge by the paint, but otherwise hand-crafted and well-designed, perhaps out of the best glass manufacturers and metallurgists of this side of Azerbaijan. Silver mirrors, lodged to the ceiling, their surface reflecting the crowd, myself, and my gaze right back at me. Old Perso-Arabic script lined the mirrors.

سنين كولگه‌ڭ سنى باغلار

“Your reflection binds you,” I read out loud.

“What did I do?”

“Kölgən, not as shadow. But as reflection. Unfortunate coincidence…” I said, and my voice trailed. I gently turned his head to the ceiling.

“They got mirrors on the ceiling?” He whispered his question.

“Deflectors. A security precaution. They are made to weaken us, nullify our Curses. That explains your wound.”

“That’s new.”

“There are many. Installed on the roofs,” I told him. My eyes scanned for them; every nook and cranny of this side of the airport was lined with deflectors on the ceiling. They were not there in the entrance, but perhaps they thought it was enough to place those expensive crafts in the most critical area of the airport, just past security.

For the first time in a while, I saw Ramin turn as pale as white paper. I tried to guess what was going through his mind, but if I felt vulnerable once, he must have felt that ten times. His Curse was to heal his wounds, and now he was incapable of doing that.

“Hi, can you help us?” A middle-aged woman pulled our attention from the ceiling back to the ground. “My friends and I are heading for a trip, but we can’t see what it says.”

“Where are you flying?” Ramin asked, but I blocked out the unnecessary chatter. All I could feel by hearing that woman’s voice was a sudden remorse – for what I could not tell. Knowing that an army of witches was heading here, perhaps?

I needed a plan.

“What do we do?” Ramin asked.

“Do you have more money?” I asked back, and he nodded. “If we can’t run, we need to weather the storm. Let’s go find supplies.”

We pushed through the crowd, towards the closest shop. There was a big line at the cashier, but we ignored it and rushed through its small corridors. It was a mini market confectionery, one of the many shops inside the airport, where you could simply walk in from the boarding area. “Get a couple of lighters,” I told him, pointing to the cigarette corner. “And some tobacco too.”

I went towards the food section. There were only snacks in this aisle. I needed something with a dust form – besides sand, salt, sugar, and perhaps flour could work. Implements like this could enhance my warding Curse. But I was in an airport.

Imishli Sugar, I saw a small vial with white powder in it, sold in a premium package. I grabbed ten of them, all that was left. If I were right, no one would miss them or be disappointed not to have their piece of premium sugar from Azerbaijan from this shop.

I bumped into Ramin. He was holding a basket with a couple of lighters and some cheap tobacco. I threw the sugar vials into the basket, grabbed the tobacco plastic bag, opened it, took a few patches, and placed them in my mouth.

He grimaced as I munched on it.

“It calms the nerves,” I explained. “Let’s go.”

Ramin went and stood in the queue, which was moving ominously slowly. He hadn’t realized the urgency of the situation.

“I definitely don’t have enough money for all that.” He said, but I ignored him. It did not matter.

“Listen, I do not know how much time we have before they raze this place. If they bring so many with them, this will be a warzone. They have ways to break the deflectors, but I don’t. So, when they do, I have to act immediately. It is a very small window to react.”

“You are scaring me. All this for us two? Why do they care?”

I was about to tell him to shut up when I thought about what he just asked. This did feel unnecessarily dramatic, even for Starling. This was something else.

“And they shouldn’t even know we are here, right? I know they have seers, but why would they be looking here? Why wait to attack this airport and not through our whole bus ride?”

I was having the same thoughts as he did. But it did not matter. I saw the glass of a water bottle shaking in the fridge behind the cashier. Only for just a tiny bit, but I needed no other warning.

“Stand behind me!” I yelled at everyone in the queue as I turned towards the entrance of the shop. People got startled by my command, but they obeyed, as they saw me grab the vase of sugar, open it, and hurl it around at the entryway of the shop. White powder covered the floor and lined the entrance.

“Are you nuts?” I heard someone yell – and I bet I looked nuts, but that would be only for a passing second. I grabbed a second vase, and as I did, the lights went out. Not just of the store, but the entire boarding area’s lights snuffed out one after the other.

“Stand behind me!” I commanded again, and terrified customers rushed behind me.

Reveal yourself! A woman’s voice echoed through the airport, and as it did, everyone’s heads turned around and up, scared. I raised another sugar vase, ready to hurl it around at the right moment.

“Oh shit,” Ramin said, recognizing the voice as much as I did.

Okay then.

Sındır! Shatter!

Her hexed voice echoed through the area, and as she did, everything shattered. The windows that lined the airport, the doors out of tempered glass, glass bottles around the shops, and the mirrors of the deflectors on the ceiling. Everyone screamed in fear and started running around.

Some people dropped their suitcases and started running, while others took cover behind tables, as glass rained from all directions. Their instincts were correct, but in vain.

We, on the other hand, had a chance.

“Stand in my ward!” I yelled and finally threw the next vase of sugar. I knew my eyes ignited in light when using my Curse, but this time, I also saw the sugar light up in a mix of golden and green. It was the only brief source of light inside the dark airport.

The sugar grains did not fall guided by gravity but flew and lined the divide of the small shop with the rest of the airport. The sugar I had previously thrown on the border of the shop raised itself, highlighted by the same golden and green colors, and met the rest of the sugar grains, creating a wall of shiny dust between our warded mini-market and the rest of the airport.

Sing in the winds, sing at the rocks, carry the seeds, bring on the force.

A lone bird crossed the stormy sky, undeterred by the imposing visage of Bazardüzü. Its peak, covered in mist and dew, would have scared away any small critter, but this was no mere starling. It was a follower heeding a call.

The bird dove among the rocks effortlessly, measuring the span of its wings with a surprising intelligence.

Sing in the winds, sing at the rocks, carry the seeds, bring on the force.

It landed on a rock, only to appear as a dark-clothed human. Its feathers still adorned the edges of his clothing, and a beaked mask obscured his face. The man stood solemnly, watching the valley below. An ominous storm cloud was devouring Qəbələ. A steady voice, deep but not particularly loud, disturbed the silence.

“Glad to be finally blessed by your presence, Zephyr.”

The masked Zephyr did not turn, focusing his efforts on surveilling the view.

“Is this all necessary?” He asked finally.

“I am afraid so. If you cannot find her, no one can,” she responded. There was no disappointment in her voice, if anything, there was a hint of satisfaction.

“Are we the protectors of our domain, or the ones leading it to its fall?” He asked. He did not dare raise his voice, but he could not prevent it from cracking.

A shadow-feathered figure enveloped him, and a hand caressed his cheek.

“Your loyalty to the Starling Domain is remarkable,” the woman whispered, “if only your friend had half of it.”

“I am sure she has been tricked.” Zephyr had only hoped to justify his friend’s actions, unjustifiable as they might have seemed to him so far, “I do not even know how she found herself in that house.”

The woman stepped closer behind him, her face inches away from his neck. Her breath carried a pestilence that churned his insides, but he remained unflinching.

More starlings had now landed in the rocky area around him. Most would be true birds, confused by the flock gathering on such high ground. But Zephyr would not make the mistake of underestimating her: perhaps every single bird around was one of her followers.

“It matters not. This is bigger than any of the domains. We were successful in retrieving what we needed, but the world has started spinning.” The woman dragged the last word as she spun around herself.

The starlings whispered.

Sing in the winds, sing at the rocks, carry the seeds, bring on the force.

The woman released a mix of a cackle and birdsong. “The pendulum stolen in Sierra Leone leads the chaos in Central Africa. The Antarctica Mirage is breaking. Another artifact was lost in Aden’s Gulf. Or at least that’s what all the winds are saying. Whisperers across the world are reaching out to find out: are all of them safe?”

As she narrated the news of every corner of the world collapsing into a new generation of Cursed crimes, Zephyr could not take his eyes away from the storm brewing in the skies of Qəbələ. Lightning bolts looked deceivingly unimportant when standing in the mountains. He could see the chaos they were brewing.

Satiated by what he could witness through his Cursed eyesight, Zephyr turned to face Starling, his leader, and the face of the Starling Coven.

She was tall and slender, and her face would be deemed common by the region’s beauty standards; if only it were not perverted by a mix of mutations and glamours. As she moved, the feathers on her clothes gleamed, and her visage shifted, ever obscuring her true form, but undeniably revealing the extent of the toll the Animal Curse she bore had exacted from her.

“Can I finally see it? The bow?”

“Patience, dear Zephyr. Let’s first make sure the Shadows and the Trees are kept busy,” she said and approached him. She pulled away his mask, revealing the rugged face and glare of a seasoned fighter. Zephyr could not take his eyes off her face, constantly shifting between beauty, unholy mutation, and eldritch horror. She leaned towards him. “Let’s first have a feast!”

Sing in the winds, sing at the rocks, carry the seeds, bring on the force.

Nisy is a Cursed Azeri seer. She can whisper far, she can see even further, and she can make herself obscured by threats - if she holds on to some kind of light. She was meant to guard the south of Oguz while Starling's Coven, the one she belongs, was fighting a rival coven, but found herself trapped in an enchanted house. There she met Ramin.

To catch up with Nisy’s first Arc, start here:

Ramin is a half-Shadow. A Cursed of peculiar origins, but only half. A novelty and a taboo for their world. And her cellmate. Nisy’s Curses helped them escape - just at the nick of time. Starling's Coven, the one that was supposed to be her allies, is now hunting her down.

Having no other choice, they agreed to escape the country via the closest airport, hoping their Curses will let them flee before the coven war finds them.

40°49’37.0”N 47°42’45.1”E
Qəbələ International Airport,
Qəbələ region
20.05.2024 – 21.45 UTC +04.00

“So, can you simply do whatever you want?” Ramin asked, sometime after the bus had crossed Türyançay.

He was referring to my warding Curse.

“Hm, I wish,” I said and lowered my voice. “I can make a cashier ignore me and gift me things. I can protect myself, and perhaps you, if someone with bad intentions is nearby. That’s about it.”

“It is quite handy.”

“Well, the more people I must trick the more impossible it is. I can make a bus driver ignore us. I can’t make a whole airport work in our favor and let us on an international flight.”

“I see. So, we do need money.”

“And more matches,” I sighed “I am almost out.”

The drive was uneventful. A part of me wished Zephyr would whisper back at me again, with an explanation, but I knew that wish was futile. Even if he did reach out, responding to him would pose a major risk. Some people could trace whispers, and with Qəbələ Airport being right out of Starling’s Domain, I would not bet they would not dare follow us out there. I decided to not use my energy thinking about my old coven. I had to figure out a way to get enough money to buy two tickets out of Azerbaijan and anywhere to the south.

Perhaps I could use my ward enough times begging for money around the airport. It could work, but we would need to make sure people would not get to us. The more people I tried to affect with the same ward, the more we would risk garnering attention. But yet, it was the best idea I could think of.

Once we reached our destination and exited the bus, I realized how futile my thought process was. The entire parking lot, airport market, and overall vicinity were heavily patrolled by government police carrying automatic guns.

Government ads were showcased in every corner, with a very clear motto: SEE A CURSE, REPORT A CURSE.

“That was a major detail you left out, Nisy.”

“I did not. Things must have happened during the past couple of days. The authorities are cracking down on the covens,” I said, worried, but started walking as the rest of the people towards the airport entrance, trying not to seem suspicious.

“And that includes…”

“Oh, I am sure it includes you, too. We are not in Shadow territory yet. Just… Just stay normal.”

My mind raced as I looked at all the security guards stationed at the airport. This could be good, as a major encounter with anyone from Starling’s coven would be unlikely. The airport should be a relatively safer place. However, this rendered my plan of using my curse to grift people quite moot.

“I have an idea,” Ramin said “Follow me.”

We walked through Qəbələ Airport. It was quite busy, even though it was late for a Monday. There were not many flights left operating for the next few hours, but at this rate, sleeping in an airport would not be the worst outcome.

We walked towards one of the many cafés in the airport.

“Do the thing. How you sensed me, how you sense us Shadows,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” I looked around. There were quite a few policemen in the area.

“They won’t notice. And we need to find a shadow, if my plan is going to work,” he said.

I nodded slightly, unsure why I would trust his plan. But in the end, it was true that no one could notice. We sat in one of the cafés. I closed my eyes. Using my Cursed senses outside of a ward was possible, just not as powerful. After focusing for a good couple of minutes, I turned to him.

“There is someone. In the kitchen. A shadow. He is aching, but nobody knows,” I paused, “He must be hiding as well. That he is a shadow, I mean.”

Before Ramin could stand up, I grabbed his arm.

“Ramin. Shadow society has changed in the last few years. I… Just don’t mention me.”

He winked at me.

“Not everything could have changed. Do you think using one more of your matches is too risky?” he asked, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

“Just once,” I responded, unsure. We looked around making sure no one was looking towards us.

Stay lit only for us, I whispered and blew on it. Its green flame lit weakly, now warding us from unnecessary witnesses. We quickly walked towards the kitchen of the café, a messy place with three men frantically cleaning and preparing dishes.

“The eldest,” I said, pointing at a man looking well beyond his sixties. He was smoking a thin cigar at the far end of the kitchen while loading dishes in the dishwasher.

Ramin exited my ward and headed towards the man. One of the other men reacted “You are not supposed to be back there!” but Ramin ignored him. As he stepped next to the middle-aged man, who was ready to protest, he whispered something at him. The man, startled, jumped up with whatever he heard, and dropped the cigarette.

Ramin looked vaguely in my direction and then went through a door, into a back room with the man.

“Damn it, Ramin,” I sighed and used another match. I sobbed silently, trying to maintain my focus. Remaining unseen and unnoticed in such a busy place took its toll, second by second. My head felt like it would split open. Perhaps one of these cigars would help me. I instinctively munched on my own saliva, pretending to have some tobacco to relax me. Chewing on tobacco was helpful, and perhaps I finding some soon would help.

The match I was holding was weak. I could not hold on to wards like this anymore, it was becoming clear. The men in the badly lit kitchen lifted their heads and quickly glimpsed towards me.

Stay lit only for me, I whispered my prayer. Their attention was diverted once more.

After two minutes that felt like hours, Ramin came back without the older man.

He came towards me, and I let him see me.

“Let’s go. I hopefully have the money for at least a flight out of here,” he whispered once close enough to be warded by my match’s light.

He rushed ahead and outside of the café, back into the main corridor of the crowded airport. I put out the match, hoping to preserve some of my willpower; I was sure I would have to light a match a couple more times before we managed to sneak into an airplane.

“How? Why did he give you money?” I asked and I noticed Ramin averting his gaze before he would respond.

“You would not understand,” he said cryptically. He headed for the nearest ticket counter, before I could ask more questions.

I could not argue anyway. I barely had the energy to discuss with him. I simply followed him towards a check-in desk. There were no police around and only one employee nearby. I braced myself, as I inevitably would have to use at least one match for one more command.

A skinny man with a thin moustache stood alone behind his desk, focusing on a screen. He did not even avert his gaze from whatever was keeping him so locked in, while Ramin explained how much in a hurry we were.

“The best I can do for you is a flight leaving in twenty minutes, heading to Saudi Arabia. At Red Sea Airport. But you have to hurry,” he said.

“Okay, we will take it,” Ramin said with no hesitation. I wanted to protest: this was not even half the distance to Western Sahara, not even reaching Africa. I tightened my lips and pulled his arm, unsure on how to have this discussion without raising any eyebrows. Ramin ignored my uneasiness.

“Honey, this is for the best. We shouldn’t extend our stay here any longer,” he said, shaking my hand off and grabbing me by the shoulder.

“Okay, Red Sea sounds, yes, for sure, lovely.” We were in a hurry, that was true, but were we that much that a random flight like this made sense?

Ramin still averted his gaze. Had something happened while he discussed with that Shadow in the café? I could not tell, but maybe that man had warned him about the region we were in. Maybe Ramin was only just then realizing how vulnerable we were.

“Alright, your passports please?” The clerk asked still fixated on his screen. I did not waste a moment and I lit another match. I leaned in as closer to him as I could.

“Just book these tickets in your name and your wife,” I suggested, “use your details. And then forget all about it.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. Every match I had used weighed me down.

“I am reaching my limit,” I warned Ramin, as the clerk obeyed. I kept the match lit until he handed us our boarding passes. I let it fall out of my hands as we headed to the boarding gate.

We quickly passed the security control, without much hustle.

“Ramin. I need to rest. They will control our passports in Saudi Arabia,” I said once we were past security, trying to catch my breath. I would run out of energy before running out of matches.

“You will sleep in the airplane. We can’t stay here long…” he said.

But I could not hear him anymore, as everything turned black, and for a moment, I felt my body held by his arms.

I was walking outside. The wind was blowing against me making me wince and pushing my dress against my body.

“Ramin!” I yelled as I turned around to look for him, but I was alone, walking outside what looked like an airport.

“Right. Qəbələ airport. That’s where I was when…”

Lightning struck in the distance, catching my attention. Dark, thick clouds were gathering in the north.

“Ramin! Where are you?” I yelled, and I could not even hear myself scream. I looked down at my hands. I had no matches to light, and I did not remember why I was standing there. Another lightning bolt struck, and this time the wind carried the thunder. The storm was coming closer.

I gazed into the storm, and suddenly I felt its dark, cold humidity freezing on my skin. I heard more thunder and, amidst all, the birds’ song. Birds were flying inside the clouds, and their dark feathers iridized with each lightning that lit the sky.

“Starling. She is coming, with the entire coven,” I said to myself. I started running towards the airport. Its lights flickered and went dark. I had no idea why I was outside on my own, but I had to find Ramin. That Shadow was all I had close to an ally, and a murmuration of Starlings was heading right at me.

I ran, but I could not make the distance, as the airport remained in the same spot. No, it was not the airport – it was me, running but not moving.

“This is Farsight,” I finally realized, catching my breath. I was not there; I was only having a vision.

I turned around again to face the storm, now convinced that it was induced and conducted by some kind of Curse. I focused on the clouds again and tried to look for a starling that I would recognize. Hopefully Zephyr. The murmuration started shifting through the clouds, probably warned by my meddling and sensing being watched by a seer.

“Zephyr, I know you. You would come,” I whispered. If I could trust anyone in my coven before the last days’ events, it would be him. A part of me trusted him still; he did not seem as menacing as his glass-shattering companion in Kərimli. If there was really no way to avoid the incoming clash, I needed him to explain at least why I was imprisoned and subsequently hunted.

I let my gaze drift through the clouds, spreading my senses and flying among the clouds and the starlings. Many of them had familiar plumage, but none of them was him.

“Hokumə. Of course, it’s you,” I hissed through my teeth. A starling, perhaps even a bit smaller and more unassuming than the rest, carried a broken beak. I was not mistaken, it was her. A vicious witch, one of Starling’s top ranks. I tended to avoid working with her, as her willingness to obey any given order without hesitation always bothered me.

As if she had heard me even in starling form, she turned towards me and flew right in my direction. Her broken beak opened ready to screech, but before she could utter any hex, an unstoppable force pulled me away from the cloud. I tried to grab onto the murmuration, while it violently hurled me through the air.

It was a mirror breaking, everywhere in my sight. This made no sense; Hokumə should not have the means to do this to my farsight. The sky around me was fracturing, clouds and fog made of glass, shattered by a permeating force. My farsight was collapsing and I was hurled back into my position outside the airport. I had to close my eyes and reopen them, to center myself. On the horizon, the storm was approaching.

My vision remained impaired: everything around me was breaking into a million pieces. The ground of the airport itself, the nearby hills, my dress.

I looked at my hands.

“This was already a vision,” I whispered as it all shattered.

I heard commotion, but it was not the commotion of murderous birds or glass shattering. It was people complaining as they stood near a boarding gate. I was back, inside the airport, with Ramin.

I grabbed his hand, who was now sitting next to me with a look of despair.

“They are coming Ramin. Starling is coming,” I said to him.

“Finally! You scared the crap out of me! What was this?” He responded. He was not only annoyed, but I could see him shifting somehow uncomfortably.

“Ah, did I pass out?”

“No! Well for a moment, but then you stood up and have been by my side for the past ten minutes saying nothing. I thought you had a stroke.”

I snapped my fingers at him.

“Ramin. No time to explain. We need to leave. They are coming to get us. I saw them all.”

“We need to find food immediately,” Ramin said. Alongside the feel of warmth and safety that the house had forced upon us, there must have been some kind of sustenance hex, as it suddenly felt like I had not eaten properly for longer than I should. I wondered if my memories of dinner were even real, or if Ramin and I just pretended to eat.

I quickly agreed, and the first diner we found that was half-full, we sat in it. We knew the two Starling-masked Cursed were looking for us, so once we sat at the table and ordered, I asked for a candle from the waitress, who simply brought one without questioning the request.

I lit it and left it in the center of the table. If they were to pass, they would hardly notice us. And Zephyr personally knew that was the case – and that’s why he had whispered at me, hoping I would answer and reveal myself. What I could not piece together was whether he had really detected us in that house and let us go, or simply lied to his partner in crime about my Curses.

“Will the waitress find us now? I think the point was to eat eventually,” Ramin joked, halting my lingering thoughts.

“That is not how my ward works.”

“Sure, sure.”

We both looked at each other a bit awkwardly.

“So, a shadow and a seer enter a bar…” Ramin tried to joke.

I took a moment to observe the establishment’s clientele and décor. Plastic fixed tables contrasted with wooden lanterns on the walls. A few tables had groups of three to four, no more than fifteen people inside them, all eating food whose scent ranged from smoke-charred meat to nutty and sweet fried dough.

I looked back at Ramin, sitting across the table. I knew what I had witnessed, his body healing with ashes pouring out of his wounds. However, I could not sense even a hint of a Shadow from him.

“It is a tavern. And you are not a Shadow. At least I can’t sense so,” I said.

“Bar sounds funnier. And I am a half-blood. I can switch it on and off,” he answered as if he had just said the most normal thing in the world.

A half-blood Shadow. Had I ever heard about that before? I frowned, trying to recover any information about these creatures. I had been taught a lot in the past decade in Starling’s Coven, but what if they did not know everything about them?

“That is not possible,” I said.

Ramin shrugged and chuckled. The waitress approached, unfazed by my candle’s ward, recognizing us just enough to bring our order.

“Of course it is. Probably more common than pure shadows nowadays,” Ramin said as he grabbed the drinks from the waitress’s disk. She left some appetizers and skewered kebab on the table.

Ramin’s eyes widened as the sizzling hot grilled beef’s scent invaded his nostrils, almost like a cartoon. He did not even hesitate, nor even acknowledged me anymore, as he promptly started devouring it.

“Unbelievable. Really. So. Amazing,” he said.

It was not that I expected him to have manners. It was more that, I had seen people acting like that before, only when they were starved. I was also hungry, but held back for a moment.

“How long were you in there?” I asked him.

He did not answer but looked at me for a moment. I gave him a few minutes to swallow down the first kebab, and then he responded.

“You told me it is May already, so must be at least six months. It was December, I remember it was cold at least, when I was taken away. And it was right after…” He seemed to measure his words carefully, trying to recover a memory that, at least at first sight, was not a happy one. “Right after the Taint of the Ceyranbatan Waters.”

He continued eating his next kebab.

“I…” I tried to say, but I could not process the information.

The Taint of the Ceyranbatan Waters was the first incident before the rise of the Shadow Domain in Bakı, well, at least back then. It was a tragedy for the Cursed, a blessing for the Shadows of the region. The Ceyranbatan Reservoir waters were hexed to cull the Cursed of the city. Poison only whoever bore a Curse, but not mortals or Shadows. Cursed who drank even a sip of that water withered away in a matter of days.

I had only by luck avoided the fate of other fellow Cursed, having moved out of Bakı and joined Starling’s coven when I had sensed that the city was no longer safe. The Taint of the Ceyranbatan Waters was an act of revolution or of mass murder, and had made history, honored or despised depending on the side you were on back then.

Eight years ago.

“The Taint was eight years ago. November 2016,” I said.

Ramin did not stop eating the second kebab, but when he finished, he asked:

“What do you mean? What year is it now?”

“May 2024.”

“Ah, shit. That must be… eight years then.”

I could not believe that man was locked in a house for eight years. Under Starling’s orders no less, and I had never heard of him.

“What did you do? Starling must have had a reason. She has many prisoners, Shadows even, but never for so long.”

“Honestly? I do not remember. But maybe I will soon. Whatever it is, though, it cannot be worse than what you did,” he said. “Think about it. Whatever the reason, the one you call Starling took me away and put me in that hexed house. That said, they kept me alive for so long… The moment they think you escaped, they glass bomb the house. So, I really need to know what it is that you have done.”

He was right. That reaction must have been proportional to something that I had done. Or something I had learned.

Or both. I recalled the vision about the Sahara and a message I had sent that night.

“I have only fragments of memories,” I admitted. It felt like my brain had been bleached clean, and I could only remember random whispers I had received that night, along with limited visual details. “I was warding a house south of here, hoping to protect south of Oğuz from…” I vaguely gestured in his direction.

“Shadows?” Ramin asked. Sitting under the light of the candle in that diner made the question sound literal, but we both knew we were referring to his kind.

“Yes. Something happened that night. I think… I met another Cursed.” I dug through my mind. It was difficult, even away from the mind fog that the house had created over the last few days. The memories were locked behind a semi-transparent wall. “He forced me to whisper, or caused a vision? I am not sure exactly. But it somehow has to do with a place in the Sahara. I really can’t make sense of my memories.”

We looked at each other. The awkwardness was palpable.

“By the way you are looking at me,” he repeated my vague gesture, “things must have gone more awry than I thought. I remember the radio talking about domain wars. Is it because of us?” he said, troubled.

These were hard waters to navigate. Shadows were very particular creatures, neither humans nor Cursed, but something in between. They always existed in the region. Turkey, Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and even southern Russia and northern Iran all hosted sporadic minorities of Shadows. They tended to have obvious Curses, always associated with darkness, decay, or, like in Ramin’s case, ashes. They looked more human than we Cursed, not bearing any unique spark or charisma like we did. They were shunned by the Cursed, who tried to hide among the normal mortal world, exactly because of their particular curses. Where I had grown up, associating yourself with shadows was considered taboo.

They also had a dramatically shortened lifespan, most of them not living past forty, succumbing to their own Curses. Or at least they used to. A couple of years back, some innovative mortal treatment was discovered. It boosted the Shadows’ health and allowed them to push the boundaries of their powers without consuming their lifespan.

I did not share most of my background’s prejudices against Shadows. If anything, I felt a combination of pity and curiosity for their Cursed fates.

“Your kind,” I paused, choosing my words carefully, “revolted. Already before the Taint, they had found a way to establish a domain in Bakı. After the Taint and the past couple of years, they have enhanced control over the territory, forbidding other Cursed from entering. This caused the current Coven War.”

I waited a bit to gauge his reaction. He seemed perplexed, confused even, but not sad about it. I continued explaining.

“Bakı was the neutral center of activities for most covens. Like a peaceful territory for commerce, exchange of resources, and diplomacy. But once that was gone, all the covens started vying for control of the areas around the Caspian Sea, which in turn has created more and more alliances and betrayals across covens in the area… My coven is in active war with Adil’s Coven, from Shaki through Qəbələ.”

I omitted the history of some covens persecuting and executing Shadows as punishment for their perceived insolence. I was never directly involved in these attacks against Shadows, but I was not sure how that information would help me build rapport with the only ally at hand.

He kept frowning as I spoke, shifting his left hand on his days-old beard and scratching his cheek. I was not sure if he completely followed. As a half-Shadow, he might have never heard of coven wars before his imprisonment, maybe not even of who Starling and Adil were.

“I see,” he answered, “not much I can do about all that. What’s the plan for us?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Nowhere is safe in this region if you are Cursed. The war is on full scale, and the covens only get bolder. Now not even hesitating to fight out in the open,” I said, my voice lowering, thinking of the consequences of my hypothesis, “the state authorities will hunt every Cursed to quell these fights and protect the non-Cursed.”

“Not much we can do about that either,” he said. His grey eyes were still frowning.

I had started to realize his personality was more direct than what that hexed house had tranquilized him into before. He tapped his hand on the table. “It sure sounds like there is a domain war raging out there,” he added.

“Well, our case is more complex than those domain wars. My farsight showed me the Western Sahara. There is no possibility this domain war extends that far, so I believe this is about something else.”

Ramin scoffed.

“Are you expecting us to travel to a far-off corner of the world, on a hunch?”

“Look, I have no other lead, family, or friends. My only close friend was the very masked man you saw, hunting for us. I have nowhere to go but far from here, so I may as well get a plane to Morocco and find out what is hiding there. You can go back to whatever weird family you are from.”

He must have felt some of the pain and desperation in my voice.

“Did you miss the part where I was locked in there for almost a decade?”

After a moment of awkward silence, I second-guessed my words.

“I apologize. My head is all fuzzy. I can’t imagine how your head feels. And I am sure you do have a family somewhere looking for you.”

He did not say anything, and we were both left lost in our thoughts and my candle’s warding light.

I was without a coven or allies, and I knew I must have uncovered something big for my coven to hunt me like this. If there was any way to fix how my life was unexpectedly shattered, that was to find out what I had learned that night.

Ramin was a shadow prisoner of my coven, held against his will for years. There was no reason for our common trip to continue. We might have been enemies in proper circumstances.

“That’s very far. How are we going to find a flight to Morocco?”

I scanned him with my eyes. Was he planning to tag along in my crazy escape plan – and was I really okay with it? I weighed my options. His help could prove very advantageous, a half-shadow that can switch his powers on and off.

“If only I knew a shadow,” I said in the end, “so that we could go through Shadow territories together.”

He popped a cute smirk. I had to admit, there was something I liked about him. It was not pity, like I expected, but genuine interest.

“Let’s find a bus then,” he said.

I signaled to the waitress. As she came near my candle’s ward, I whispered.

“We were never here.” We waved at her and left, as she blankly returned to her post. I felt shame for using my Cursed ward to not pay at a diner, but given we had nothing but our somehow torn clothes and a box of matches, I decided we were owed a break.

I followed a similar strategy when we visited a nearby clothing store and when we bought tickets for the bus ride to Qəbələ Airport. Ramin did not seem to protest but did look at me suspiciously every time I whispered a ward and lit a match.

We hopped on the first bus that would leave the territory, heading east and passing by the closest airport: Qəbələ International Airport. The bus’s smell of inadequate ventilation and dump seats somehow added to our desperation. He sat next to me, silent for a while.

The bus was filled with people, most of them carrying luggage, obviously heading in the same direction as us. I wondered how much of the coven war these people had felt in the past days. Probably nothing, I thought to myself as the bus ride started.

Neither Starling nor Adil would allow non-Cursed to spread words of witches, tearing apart the country. Remaining covert was still in their best interests, lest the Shadow-controlled government of Bakı intervene. People did look worried, though. Maybe they all knew someone who had suddenly died, disappeared, or fallen ill. Someone who saw Curses they shouldn’t have.

“Who put you in here?” I asked Ramin. The golden light of my warding match was casting weak shadows on Ramin’s face, his expression quickly switching from eyes widening to eyes darting left and right. With each flicker of the match’s flame, a new lucidity dawned on me. I looked around as well: the pointers of the clock on the wall moved faster, the mirror doors of the cutlery vitrines turned dull, and the smell of flowers subsided. And the food on the table; it all disappeared. Only dust crowned the dishes. My brain tried to reconcile its experienced reality with its senses – and it was failing.

I was sure Ramin was noticing the same details and going through the same migraine.

“I don’t know,” he said, “and I am not sure how long I have been here.”

The glass on the window dulled as well, a glamour of luxury being lifted part by part from the Safehouse. I heard the window shutters shuffle and creak as a breeze blew through:

Do not speak to anyone. I am coming right away; Starling.

I heard each word of Starling’s whisper, dragging its weight through my mind. They would be right there. Right away. They would be… The match’s light dimmed as I lost focus.

“Sister, why is there no light?” Ramin asked, clouded by the same confusion. Instinctively, I lit another match.

“It is the Safehouse. It is bending our will again.”

Should we wait for Starling? Was she the one who had placed me in there? Was I safer with her or Ramin? I could not decide, and my limbs weighed on my indecisiveness. Then I remembered what my premonition was.

RUN

“Grab my hand,” I said. I did not trust that man, not for a second. But if anyone had answers, it would be him. Plus, I felt pity for him. If he was telling the truth and I abandoned him here, he would be lost again in this hazy aromatic fever dream of “all-is-well” that we were before. I could not stand by it. The taint of the hex was still all over me, and it repulsed me. A proof that whatever intent was behind this, it was malicious.

Ramin did not hesitate. He quickly ran next to me and grabbed my arm.

Stay lit only for the two of us, I prayed to the match, and its flame changed to a darker golden hue.

“There was a backdoor through the library,” I said, recalling how the suspicious door had previously beckoned to me.

“Why not through the main door?” Ramin asked, but I shook my head. If we had been trapped through there, we had to find another way through the hex. Plus: Starling had just warned she was coming, and I was sure that she would never deign to come through the servants’ back door.

I started walking, but the match’s flame in my hands trembled again. Candles and pyres, yes. But I had never done this with matches. I shook the matchbox with my left hand: fifteen, maybe twenty matches? These should be plenty, right?

I walked faster. We walked past the open bathroom door.

“Was it…”

“No,” I answered, “or maybe it was, and it is now revealing to us.”

We did not need to step inside the bathroom to notice its decadence: mold was rapidly growing on the floor, consuming it tile by tile, while the bathtub was full of vile mud. The mirror on the wall was turning dull and foggy, except for the letters on it, the warning I had written with my blood now gone, leaving a shade of black behind.

RUN

The mirror cracked right through the warning; its glass started to vibrate. I looked back. The same was true for the glass vitrine, the glasses on the kitchen countertop.

“Run?” Ramin asked.

“Run!” I said.

We sprinted past the bedroom with the pomegranate tree. I only saw a glimpse of it: the pillows were torn, with black feathers spilled over everywhere. The pomegranate in the wall painting had turned black and rotten.

What if we were rotting as well?

I turned to the corridor leading to the library. We paused, the vibration of glasses from behind us still intensifying and propagating through the air, like miasma. A miasma propagating on the walls as well: the leafless pomegranate tree branches adorning the walls were no longer empty. Painted with rushed strokes and an ink that stained the tapestry, starlings with iridescent plumage were designed perched in every branch.

The match’s flame went out as a breeze blew in, strong and cold as if born by mountains and ice, and only for a second we were surrounded by blissful darkness. But I had the next match ready, and I lit it with another wish again.

Stay lit and save us.

The light came back, and so did more starlings on the wall, all of them staring with red eyes. And another pair of eyes, behind a starling mask, at the end of the corridor. Ramin tied his hands around my arm, holding the match.

A man wearing the Starling robe and the Starling mask had appeared out of thin air and stood blocking our path to the library.

He took a step closer, his mask hiding all its features, but the eyes behind, I could not mistake.

“Zephyr,” I said, under my breath, tempted to shout at him and reveal myself of our invisibility. Ask him for help and explanations.

The doorbell rang. Its chime sounded like tar strings struck all at once, discordant by intention. Like a distorted bird’s cry.

“Hi, it’s us.” The voice surrounded us. Friendly – and a woman’s voice. It was not Starling, it was someone else. Someone worse, if you asked me.

Ramin snapped me out of it, and we started running back the other direction. Back past the bedroom and the bathroom, back into the kitchen, where now all glasses shook as if a quake only affected their reality with purpose, while ours was one of confusion.

“Will you open the door?” the friendly voice asked from outside the house, its command suggesting we respond, but passing distorted through the ward I had cast around us.

For the first time, I felt Ramin ready to let go of my arms, influenced by the command, but I held on tight to him.

“Don’t listen to them,” I said quietly, and I looked back. The man whom I thought was Zephyr had not yet followed us back to the kitchen. I stopped walking for a moment, hesitating.

“Where do we go?” Ramin asked. I did not know. We were surrounded. Someone was at the front door, and someone was inside the house. Did we take our chances with any of them? Maybe Zephyr?

“We stay put,” I said and lifted my match. We would stay and hide.

“I guess no one is hOmE,” the distorted voice screamed through, splitting the air itself.

And as it did, one by one, everything glass shattered. The mirrors on the cutlery vitrine, the glasses on the table. The mirrors in the bathroom, no doubt. The window glass made the sharpest shards. And it all took flight.

Like a murmuration of translucent pyrotechnics, looking for a body to slash.

Ramin and I crouched to avoid the hurling glasses, some of them flying right into us, hurting or slashing us. He was looking at me, scared, but all I could feel was disbelief. They were trying to kill me, the people I worked and lived with for years. The people I fought for. Why?

I looked back as Zephyr walked into the room. Yes, I was sure it was Zephyr, the way his gray, mutated eyes looked through the mask. They were searching. He was sent because he was my student and he would seek me through my glamours. He would betray me, too.

My disbelief turned into rage, and the match’s light burst bright. Hiding us in its light, but also warding us.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said to Ramin, holding my head high and pushing my light outwards. And then he realized: the glass shards flying past, all dodged us or flew by. As if we were not there. But I was late to find my foothold in this Cursed fight.

“I am hurt,” Ramin said, his eyes wet. A big shard of glass was protruding from his shoulder. Blood was quickly oozing out of the wound.

I put my finger in front of his lips. He had to endure this in quiet.

I looked around as the glass continued flying around, but at least no longer a threat to us.

I pulled out another match and blew on it, praying my hardest for my Curse to suffice for what was to follow.

Stay lit only for us.

The door unlocked from the outside and very slowly opened forth.

A woman walked inside the house, also wearing the Starling robe and mask. Hers was covering the upper part of the face, a black feathery mask that mirrored light in iridizing patterns.

She slowly walked inside the house to meet Zephyr across from us, while we stood in the middle of the large room, hoping my match’s ward would be enough to leave us unseen. I kept my finger on Ramin’s lips as he tried to hold on to me.

“There is no one here,” said the man, his voice confirming his identity. Orxan.

“For our good, I hope she is hidden somewhere,” the woman said, “I will check the basement.”

Zephyr did not respond to her, and she simply ran towards the door that Ramin had used not so long ago to fix the power outage I had caused.

Zephyr maintained a concerned pause before he started moving around. Behind the bird mask, you could tell he tried to remain focused. He walked slowly around the room, examining the ravaged furniture. He was wearing a pair of gloves, and he avoided touching or even getting close to most items. I wondered if he knew about the kind of enchantments put through the place to keep Ramin under mental restraints. If he knew exactly what we had endured.

Ramin grabbed one of the matches from my left hand and held it near my face. I blew on it as I threw the one that was almost burning out. I nodded in appreciation.

Stay lit only for us, I whispered.

We did not have unlimited matches, so I hoped the pair would quickly leave. Ramin was also quickly bleeding out, so it was a matter of who would run out of time first.

Zephyr turned in our direction, looking somehow intrigued. Maybe it was the split second that I took to change matches, but it was unmistakable that he was directly looking at our spot. He took a few steps towards us.

I did not worry. If he could see us, he would definitely have acted or called for help. I did wonder what his brain was telling him, though: when I was warded like this, people willing to harm me could not locate me, but I was not invisible. I was unseen.

He stopped half a step next to us. I could even hear him breathe – and in response, both Ramin and I held our breath. The man kneeled to examine the floor near Ramin.

Nisy, if you are hurt, please answer me. We will find a way; Zephyr.

A whisper reached me, but I did not doubt even for a second that it was sent by the man right in front of me. I felt anger overwhelming me. That man was Zephyr. Why would Zephyr be hunting for me? What did I do to deserve it?

I could not do anything, of course, and I would definitely not answer him.

“Did you find anything?” The woman appeared from the door of the cellar.

The man stood up, looking at his gloved hand.

“Yes. Blood. They are hurt.” He said, showing the glistening red on his glove, pointing at the ground right next to Ramin. His wound had resulted in significant blood loss, and I could feel him tremble weakly next to me. Some of the blood had found its way and pooled outside my ward. “They can’t have gone far,” Zephyr said.

“Dəli dostun olunca ağıllı düşmənin olsun. Better to have a wise enemy than a mad friend,” said the woman, who by the Shattering Curse I had already identified as Hokumə.

“She is not mad,” his voice quavered.

As they walked to the door, I blew on another match, igniting it with my Curse.

Hokumə turned and looked back; her expression unclear behind the black feathers.

“Are you sure none of them are hidden here somehow?” she asked.

Zephyr paused, and I could swear he looked right at us.

“Of course not. I would have found Nisy.” He opened the door and exited behind her.

We waited for a few moments before we could breathe again. They were gone. I looked at Ramin, whose color was getting paler by the second.

“You have to pull… the hexed glass out,” Ramin said eventually.

“You will bleed out.”

“Trust me,” he said, grunting in pain, “please do it now.”

He turned his back to me, and I could finally see the shard of glass sticking out of his shoulder blade and ripped clothes. I noticed the skin around the wound had taken a coal-like color. As I touched it, it felt like coarse ashes were oozing out of the wound.

I pulled the glass out. The grey powder started shifting, and it seemed like it was quickly cauterizing and healing the wound. The ashes had a mind of their own, and I was fascinated by them. Ramin quickly turned around.

“You are one of them,” I said, and I did not know if what I felt was fear or excitement. I had never seen a Shadow up close before in my life.

“Not exactly,” he said, but he looked guilty to admit it. Or even ashamed.

I grabbed his hand tight. “You will explain. But first, we need to leave this place.”

We walked for a while through the town. I had my remaining matches at hand, ready to use them if we needed to quickly be warded. The more we walked away from that house, the more this feeling of forced coziness and drowsiness withdrew. And Ramin did not bleed at all anymore – sure, our clothes looked a bit roughed up, but that was not a priority. Something else was, and I was surprised to admit it.

Bonus Material:

Look no further. The Bonus Material for Starling’s best seer is here:

Read more

Read more

Ramin was cleaning the dishes, and I was holding a cup of tea. It smelled of lemon and peppermint. I closed my eyes, trying to remember again.

RUN

A message I had left to myself, an indeterminate amount of time earlier. I vaguely recalled it, painted in red.

I had to relax. No, I should panic.

I stared at my right index finger. I had pricked it, and the wound hadn’t fully healed. The sight of blood on my finger reminded me of two things: that I should panic. And a song.

I had to convince myself not to relax with this cozy feeling. I was under the influence of some substance, enchantment, or perhaps an aggressive ward. There was no doubting it, and every conscious second mattered: I was being kept hostage.

I sat down, even though I knew I had to run.

“What’s that song about?” Ramin asked me as I kept humming a melody.

“The sun. About the day that the sun went out, and people had to invent light to find themselves,” I explained before I could even think. I laughed a bit. My subconscious was tearing down, whatever this was.

I gazed around the kitchen and the living room. The glass vitrines preserved expensive antiques, dishes, and cutlery.

And us. The Safehouse was preserving us as well.

I laughed again.

“It does not sound that funny,” he said jokingly, “why would they need to invent the light? Where was the sun?”

No, it was not funny. But my mind was sending me messages, trying to break me free. I kept humming the song as I looked straight into the tea in my teacup. A piece of peppermint leaf floated.

What was the reason I was cooperative? Was it a poison in the tea? Was it the food? Did Ramin do something to me while I was asleep?

I continued humming. The melody was grounding me, even though I had forgotten why. That’s right. The Caspian Isle. The sun, my days with Zephyr. I needed light to exert my ward – but maybe just maybe…

The lights flickered. That was me, breaking out. I had to run. I should be concerned. The kitchen smelled of a strawberry field in April. The strawberries were not ripe, but the freshness was only reflecting the light of the...

Ramin did not seem to notice as he washed the dishes, but the lights flickered again. I could break out, even though something kept a strong hold over me. Something tried to spin my humming into a joyful melody, even though I was stuck, imprisoned here. I was a hostage, and I had to keep reminding myself of that. I had to

RUN

I tried once more to hum with a bit more flair. The lights went off.

“Oh no, another outage,” Ramin said. “It has always been like this. The municipality blames the bad infrastructure, but there is nothing one can do. I need to go restart the generator, maybe give it the good-old kick to get it to run.”

I nodded and pretended I was lost in the melody I was humming. I kept going with my melody – not because I was compelled to, but to remind myself what I intended to do, in case I forgot. I whispered:

...və onların, tapşırığı yalnız, işığı tapmaq idi...

And their task was only to find the light.

I started going through the drawers of the kitchen. All I needed was a candle, or even a lighter, perhaps.

My ward powers were quite powerful, as they could nullify most malicious curses. If anything could help release me from this situation, that was it.

And their task was only to find the light.

Alas, I could only concentrate on a ward around open flames. Maybe I had to lie down. Did this house have a fireplace? It would be chilly tonight, and resting next to the fire would make sense.

I pulled a drawer a bit too hard, and startled, I dropped all its contents on the floor. Silver cutlery lying on the floor. Maybe I should just lie on the floor.

And their task was only to find the light.

Why did I just whisper that? Light. I needed to find light. Bright light. I stepped over the cutlery and opened one of the closets with the glass doors. It was full of glasses, trinkets, a clock, and vases with spices. Spices! Maybe salt? That could work.

“Nisy, are you okay?”

Ramin was coming up the stairs from the cellar. The lights were still off, but maybe he had heard the commotion I had caused.

I tried to reach for the vase with the salt. Sand, sugar, salt, all grainy materials could help me expand my ward. I needed a flame first, but I had learned quite a few protective hexes.

And their task was only to find the light.

That was when I was singing that song.

We were on the Caspian Isle to develop such rituals. Kaz had taught me, and I had taught Orxan. Zephyr, a Whisperer from Zaqatala. Orxan was singing this song. These were blessed times: learning the secrets of the Caspiansa and tuning into the bright sun’s rays…

I grabbed the vase of salt. What did I need that for again? I walked to the kitchen stove. Someone had made a mess on the floor, silver cutlery thrown around, as if a fight had just broken out. Where was I again?

Not the Caspian Sea, and I haven’t heard whispers from Zephyr since the orchard. And Kaz was gone. Right, I had tried to warn him that night. Where was I? I had to

RUN

“Nisy? What happened here?”

Ramin was back in the kitchen. He looked utterly confused. Who was that man again? How did I meet him?

“An accident, in the dark.” I looked at my hands. I was holding a vase of salt.

No, I was not. The vase was empty. Why did I think it had salt in it? What did I need it for? For a Cursed ward. My Cursed ward. I was trying to find something. I stopped humming and cursed.

What was it?

“I think you might have a concussion,” Ramin said, leaning over the mess on the floor, and trying to gather all the cutlery back to the drawer.

Wait, what melody was I humming?

“One day, the sun went out, and people had to invent light to find themselves.”

I said that part out loud. I left the empty vase on the floor and tried to help Ramin. Among the cutlery, I saw him pick up a tiny box of matches.

That should do. I took it off his hands. He did not resist, but his eyes squinted as he tried to understand my actions. I could not understand them either.

I pulled a match out. I did not ignite it using the box; I only needed to whisper:

Qığılcım.

A red flame sparked, and for the first time that day, I was lucid.

“Who are you?” I inched closer to his face. The light of the match extinguished any controlling hex, but I still had that man to face.

“I told you. I am… Ramin.” He was not threatening; he seemed more drawn to my lit match, and stepped closer as well.

“Why are you keeping me here? Under whose orders?”

“I… don’t?”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“No… please. It feels… different,” he said and then looked around. “Where are we?”

Before my match’s flame went out, I blew on another one.

“Stop these games,” I shouted at him, “you are keeping me in this hexed house. But I have allies.”

“Keeping you? I am not even sure where we are,” he insisted, but I had already started whispering.

Starling, Zephyr, anyone.

I am locked somewhere in Oğuz, Nisy.

Ramin jumped towards me.

“No, I beg you, don’t!” he said as he grabbed my arms, as if that would stop my whisper.

“Do not touch me, vile man!” I shoved him back as I dropped the match to the ground. Before its light could go out, I pulled and blew on the third one. He backed off, huffing heavily.

His eyes scoured the room and darted in all directions, like a scared animal. They appeared like vibrating orbs, looking for a threat about to land any moment.

“Why… no…” He mumbled his words. Whether by disorientation or earnest desperation, he could not get any word out.

“Any moment now, the starlings will come and save me from you!”

As I shouted, something snapped in him, and I saw his knuckles tense and turn white as he screamed at me.

“You don’t understand! That was our chance to run, and you just warned them!”

“Starling will save me, but you are free to run. I have no intention of harming you, nor the means. But when the starlings arrive, there will be hell to pay. So go!”

The more I stayed inside the warding light of my matches, burning off the enchantments of the Safehouse in my little circle of light, the more confident I became. The more lucid. In contrast, Ramin seemed more frustrated by the second.

Or was it his frustration the real lucidity? He pointed at my match.

“Listen, this thing here is the way. I cannot escape without your flame. This… What day is it?” He asked in panic. He leaned in towards me and almost kneeled in begging fashion.

I tried to decipher what he meant. His reaction to my breaking whatever controlling hex was placed upon me was opposite to what I expected. My mouth dried up as I looked around as well.

Could it be that I was mistaken? Was he not the one keeping me enchanted?

I still had no idea what had brought me to the Safehouse, but I recalled watching the television in the orchard cabin.

“It was May eighteen when I contacted my coven last. Not sure what day it is today,” I responded. The look of despair on his face said all I needed to know. He started counting fingers. Was he counting days? Or months? “You are not my captor, aren’t you? You are my cellmate.”

I looked out the window. Who kept me here, and to what purpose? I searched my pocket for more matches and readily blew on one more. The flame burnt brighter than the rest, my Curses awakening the more the enchantments of the house left me untouched. I raised the match right between us, making sure its light would reveal every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his cheeks. I needed to know if I could trust him.

“How do you know Starling?” I asked him.

“I… do not remember. But I know they have to do with us… being in this house. I remember telling you they are coming soon, and all I could feel was fear.”

My heart started pounding. Starling had more Curses than the average Cursed and owned the Domain in northwest Azerbaijan. She was someone I was loyal to and who I thought kept me under her blessings. But now, there was a good chance that Ramin told the truth, and I was imprisoned in this warm, enchanted, aromatic Safehouse by Starling’s orders. My coven betraying me – the thought devastated me. I had to trust my instincts, but was I really supposed to trust this strange man?

And do what?

RUN

“Hey, lunch is ready!” Ramin shouted from the other room.

Not much was said while we sat around the dinner table. The hot soup made my throat feel better, so I could chat, but neither of us initiated any important topics. I spent most of the time observing him and trying to get to know him. I learned that he was also Cursed, a satellite of Starling’s coven, maintaining a safe place if anyone needed it. I did not pry for more information.

Ramin placed a radio, almost from a different decade, onto the table, by the window. He stretched the antenna and searched for an interesting station. Between the cracking static and the voices, a melody reached through. A song that sounded familiar.

“Leave that on,” I asked, and he smiled.

Was this from my days in the Caspian Sea? I could not tell.

...və onların

tapşırığı yalnız

işığı tapmaq idi...

I looked at Ramin and wondered what his Curse was. The moment the thought jumped into my head, I pushed it away. It was beyond rude to ask someone that, and improper of me to even be curious about it. My head hurt a bit.

“Sister, are you alright? Do you need some more soup?”

“No… no, I am fine, really,” I said, but I was not. This headache had been torturing me all day, showing up and then retreating. It was not normal. It was a similar feeling to when I would receive a whisper, but instead more esoteric. My subconscious, perhaps? “I could do with a bath if that is alright.”

“I see,” he said, “Of course, the bathroom is in that corner. There are clean towels already there for you, and they are already warmed up. I can stay and clean up a bit here.”

“Sağ olun. Thank you.”

I stood up, the song on the radio shaking me more than anything. Its words, their meaning was lost to me, even though I knew it was important somehow. Unstable, I reached the bathroom, I closed and locked the door behind me, making sure Ramin wouldn’t interrupt me. It felt important to do so. I was in danger.

I paused.

In danger? What was I thinking? Why the sudden paranoia? Everything was fine. This was a Safehouse.

I turned on the faucet to draw a warm bath. I focused on the sound of the running hot water. Yes, everything was fine. But maybe I had to try to tune in to my coven. Maybe they were trying to whisper to me, and I had been distracted. I tried to deprive myself of senses: no sight, no smell, no hearing except for the running of hot water. I needed all my senses muted, leaving only my whispering to pick up anything from the rest of the coven.

I almost tried to whisper, but something held me back. My tongue, my lungs, and my vocal cords all threatened me if I tried to do so. It was fine, maybe I was exhausted. Maybe I was not ready to whisper. Still, I was hoping there would be someone reaching out to me, sending whispers seeking me. Where was Zephyr? Did he bring me here?

The water running into the bathtub filled the silence in the bathroom. There was no whisper coming to find me. Nothing.

The water shifted and turned surrounding me. As I breathed in, I rose above the water, feeling water dripping across my chest. As I exhaled, I sank deeper into the water, its warm touch numbing me.

I tried to go back into that night, closing my eyes to focus. I remembered… locking myself in a cabin, spreading sand around it to create a powerful ward.

“Purified by the sun,” I spoke words somehow familiar to that night, “Starling bless me and…” I did not complete the prayer, an instinctual fear tying my tongue.

I opened my eyes and watched the water ripple as I moved my legs. A sharp aroma infiltrated my lungs: pine infusion. It replaced the soreness with a cold sensation of numbness.

I closed my eyes again.

I remembered the cabin. I had waited long there. For what? What happened?

I raised my left hand to caress my neck. I felt its muscles tense more and more. I opened my eyes again; my memories would not serve me. I wet my head with the infused water.

It was time for another approach. I was disconnected from my coven and its whispers, but my senses were still intact. The candles around the bath were lit, casting long shadows in the otherwise dark bathroom.

“I have to see Far.”

The words were enough for my Farsight to fly in the sky, leaving my body behind. I did not have to go far. I had to reach that cabin, search through the fields, the skies, the villages nearby for that… orchard.

The cabin stood, barely. It was still there, I could see it just out of my reach. Its windows and door were open, letting the breeze shake them. I willed my vision inside the cabin, only to face the smell of burned wood. Not much was left. The television’s glass was shattered, and tobacco was hurled everywhere. And in the middle of the scene, a burned Starling robe.

That was mine. Why did it lie burnt next to… A pile of sand?

Different sand. Not the one I had used to ward.

I leaned over it to examine it. I saw my hand, dream-like and incorporeal, extending to touch it. And then I was gone, transferred violently and unwarned to a new location. Somewhere I have seen before.

All I could see was an endless desert, houses built in the sand, and no vegetation in sight. It was almost midday. My Farsight only worked in real time. No visions of the past or future. Just another location. So, if it were midday there now, this place must have been very far to the west of here. Europe had no such deserts. Africa?

I tried to walk on the sun-scorched sand of this desert. I kneeled and touched it, sifting through it, to see if it triggered anything.

“Ah!” I cried in surprise.

Something sharp had bitten or stung my index finger under the sand. I started shifting the sand around, looking for it. For the sign that caused me to bleed. A small scorpion jumped out of the sand and skittered away. Its body was dark like charcoal, but its legs were white like sand. Morocco, or Western Sahara. I just knew some-

-how.

I was back in the bath of the Safehouse, no longer in the bathtub, which was now overflowing with running water. I was standing near the west-facing wall, in front of the mirror. The sting persisted, and I looked at my right hand.

My finger was bleeding.

A small but tactical nick at the edge of my index finger. And then right in front of me, the mirror of the bathroom was smeared with blood. Not randomly, but shaping a word in Azerbaijani, in the old script.

قاچ

RUN

Was Ramin the one I had to run away from? Was that faraway desert the place I had to run to? Was I safe here?

The pine aroma had numbed my senses. I should be feeling concerned. I should be feeling concerned. I should be…

I picked up a wet towel and quickly cleaned the mirror. I could not take watching my blood taint it with a warning, a warning to…

RUN

I stopped the running water and stared at the bathtub, full to the brim and water overspilling everywhere. The intoxicating smell of pine resin emanating from the water almost blurred my vision.

Is he messing with my head somehow? Is it this aroma?

“All good, Nisy?”

“Absolutely.”

My voice cracked. I should be concerned. I should be…

“All right, let me know if you need anything,” he said, and I heard him move away.

I went back into the bathtub. As I stepped in, more water spilled, making way for me. I did not care. All that water meant more pine aroma for my sore lungs. The mirror was clean of my blood. And I did not need to run. I needed to rest.

✦ ✦ ✦

I found myself standing in the corridor next to the bathroom, humming some melody I had long forgotten. Something about finding the light. I raised my right hand to caress the tapestry as I walked to the bedroom. It was a small house overall, but each room felt huge as you stepped through its perfume.

“It is a pomegranate tree.”

I was talking to myself, as my hand traced the drawn branches of the tree in the wall tapestry. The whole corridor was an homage to a beautiful – if not impossible, biologically speaking – sprawling pomegranate tree. Its branches were painted to adorn the wall, connecting door to door with fruitless branches. It was the same drawing from the bedroom, continuing through the corridor.

Somewhere in the kitchen, Ramin was loudly preparing dinner. Ramin? I had an idea about Ramin, I just had one when I was in the bathroom.

“It is a pomegranate tree.” That was all I could say. And maybe I should be concerned, as I walked slowly from the bathroom to explore the other doors of the house.

There was my bedroom, its curtains long and waiting to obscure the sun for another restful sleep. No, I did not want to sleep, so I continued following the corridor further from the kitchen. There was another door, half-closed. I stepped into the room.

It was a windowless library. A study, but it felt like a sanctuary away from the world. Three of the walls hosted shelves from floor to ceiling, all brimming with brown and old books. All hidden behind glass cases, they felt more like a carefully curated museum of apocrypha. But my breath was not taken by the collection. It was by the door in the fourth wall, the furthest one from where I stood.

I did not dare turn the lights on. Even though it made no sense, I did not want to disturb the scene with electric light, hypnotized by the remarkable talent of whoever had painted the fourth wall, an oil mural surrounding a black wooden door.

“I think it is Orfey. Holding what is left of Evridika.”

The voice startled me. It was Ramin, who had just followed me into the room. He did not turn the lights on either.

I turned back to the mural. It was using the entire wall, from ceiling to floor, and from left to right. Except for the center, where a black wooden door broke the immersion of the scene. A man painted broken, wailing, his hands holding ashes, in the shape of a human crumbling. A woman perhaps. He was in some kind of dark desert. No, these weren’t ashes.

“These are not ashes.”

I walked closer to the wall, even though the black door of that wall screamed danger.

“This is salt. I think.”

I did not dare to walk closer, but I walked close enough to interpret the painter’s strokes.

“Did Evridika turn to ash when he looked back for her?” Ramin asked.

“I think she just vanished. This is not Orfey. He is not crying because he looked back. He is crying because she did.”

“What?”

I turned back at Ramin. “They were supposed to flee without looking back. This mural is of Lot and his wife. What’s left of her.”

I turned to look at the black wooden door. The mural was a threat: leave, don’t look back, and perish. But what was it referring to? I should have been concerned, but I was not.

This room smelled of salt and sea and was begging me to stay in this house. Forget what I was supposed to do.

“Anyway, dinner is ready.”

“Alright,” I said, and I followed Ramin to the kitchen.

I made another attempt to rise from the bed, a bit more successful. Overwhelming fatigue and a desire to stay lying down pulled me like gravity. Regardless, I managed to put my back against the bed’s headboard.

Next to me, on the nightstand, there was finally a hint or clue: a note, besides a small glass of water and a bag of crushed leaves. I picked it, straining to reach it, and read what it recommended with an unfamiliar handwriting: çay for a painless sleep.

Another wave of pain passed through me, starting from my neck. I heaved in an attempt to catch my breath, as if someone was about to steal it. Of course, I could breathe just fine. What a silly thought that was. I was safe. And the pain had to go. I moved closer to the edge of the bed, reaching for the teabag. I tore it open and released the powdered leaves straight into the water.

I instinctively tried to whisper to it, add a warding blessing to it. Instead, I felt like my vocal cords were ripped apart. Tears welled up, and I coughed, making it even worse.

I could not whisper through this pain, and I could not remember why.

I picked up the cup of water, as its color turned into a leafy pink. The dried aromatic seeds floated and swirled as I felt the warmth of the brew against the cup’s walls in my hands. I inhaled its fruity aroma, and before thinking twice, I sipped its contents. I cherished its fruity taste, as a thought crept into my mind: who heated this water and placed it by my bedside?

A problem for the next day, as my eyelids grew heavy.

She is powerful. She could…

Curtains. Yes, that felt like curtains. Shifting around me. Silk, fur, and cotton, soft textiles of all kinds, rubbed against my naked skin. There was no bed cover protecting me, as curtains levitated above me. I opened my eyes, shocked to see it was true.

I was lying on the same bed, although all the lights were gone. I was surrounded by curtains, shifting with an unfelt breeze. Others seemed darker, others lighter, almost translucent.

I could not move. But I could see.

Kind hands appeared from the curtains; the bodies they belonged to were hidden behind the thickest of them. The hands held oils, leaves, and wet clothes. Gently, they approached my still body and caressed it. They tended to it. Everywhere they touched, the pain subsided.

One, two, three. And a fourth pair of hands, spawning from different curtains. One tending to my knees, one cleaning my hands and fingernails. Another one, pouring oil on my exposed neck.

I exhaled, satisfied by the sensation of the hands cleansing my body. I started dozing off again, letting go. And the hands would be preparing me.

“For what?” My mouth asked before I could think. The question brought shivers to my body, and I opened my eyes. All the hands stopped moving, hovering above me, hesitating.

A moment of paranoia. They cared for me.

The hands resumed their ritual. The curtains grew in number around me, blocking more and more light. Preparing me for rest.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked again, this time my mind defiantly shaking off the numbness. “I am not dead yet.” I was not meant to be buried yet.

The hands dropped what they held and grabbed my unmoving body. I wanted to fight back, but I could not.

Again, powerless.

Then I heard a familiar warning, carried by the breeze sneaking among the curtains.

She is powerful. She could break him out.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I asked. In response, two of the hands wrapped around my mouth, and the more I opened it to shout, the more they dug in to rip my tongue out.

✦ ✦ ✦

I woke up from the nightmare, covered in sweat. I did not try to speak. Judging by the sunshine in the room still visible from the curtained window, I deduced I could not have slept that long. Maybe a couple of hours? But it felt like more. A lot more. How had I let myself go like that? I gave a go at standing up: awkwardly and successfully, I stepped out of bed. The mind fog of sleep cleared, and I noticed I was not wearing any clothes.

Like in my dream.

I examined my naked body. I could see no blemishes or wounds, although it felt weak. Turning around, I examined the room: it was exactly as I remembered before sleeping. The wall of the pomegranate tree, a teacup on my bedside. Then, I noticed a set of silken robes lying on the desk that was previously empty. The robes were not mine. This house was not mine.

Faint sounds of metal meeting plastic, and water boiling reached me. Cooking utensils. Someone was cooking in the next room, just behind the closed wooden door. Instead of walking, I stood still, fearing that if I moved, the memories would slip through the cracks of my mind. They did, regardless. Instinctively, I reached to my neck with my left hand, tracing the hints of pain and verifying it was intact. If anything, my head was in its place, almost.

I quickly donned the robe. No questions would be answered by waiting; I had to figure out where I was and why I was there. I approached the door, and just before I was about to exit, I felt my heart beating fast. As if I were alert. I hesitated. Where was I, even? I approached the window next to the desk and looked outside. All I could see was a small garden and Persian silk trees. I was still in Oğuz. I must have been. I looked at the curtains at the side of the window, and tried to remember why they scared me.

A pot tumbled over in the room next to mine, and I heard a man’s voice, swearing. I swallowed in nervousness, and another wave of pain trickled down my throat.

I went back to the door and opened it. I passed through it silently, into a living room spacious enough to host a kitchen as well. The walls were decorated in brown, gold, and warm red colors, much like the bedroom I was in just a moment ago. A man was cooking in the kitchen, but the flower aroma was covering any culinary smell. I tried to guess, but I could not. He held a large wooden spoon, as if he was about to taste the sauce he tended to – but a spillover of water around him indicated the accident that had stopped him in his tracks. The man mumbled to himself as he tried to avoid the hot water dripping from the counter.

I coughed slightly, trying to announce my presence in the room. I felt like I could not yet speak. The man, startled or even embarrassed to be caught in a culinary accident, turned around. He left the wooden spoon on the stove and rushed to wipe his hands on a towel.

“I am so sorry for the mess, sister. I hope I did not wake you up from your rest.”

I shook my head as he bowed in the form of courtesy. He continued as he turned off the stove.

“I am Ramin. You are in a safe house in Kərimli.”

I nodded in a welcoming fashion, still afraid to speak. I examined him, hoping his face would trigger any memory that would explain why I was in his house. He looked at me with kind eyes, slightly looking up as he was a little bit shorter than I was. His features were familiar but also too generic for the region, perhaps only with a uniquely shaped two-day stubble beard, which, however, did not remind me of anything. He continued to stare right into my eyes, and then I realized he was trying not to acknowledge me wearing nothing but a robe.

“Sister, I apologize for the lack of proper clothing to offer you. I was supposed to wait for your coven to bring me your outfit. No idea what is taking them so long,” he explained, and I could sense worry in the way his voice lingered over the last word. “So long.”

“What… happened?” I asked with a raspy voice. The words slipped weakly out of my lips, but thankfully, painlessly.

“Oh, please protect your voice, have some tea,” he said and ran to the kitchen, bringing me a hot cup of pink liquid, “rose tea. Bought it from Caspians.”

I nodded as a thank you, but looked at him with enquiring persistence. He shrugged. “They did not give me any details,” he said, “They brought you here two nights ago, deep into the darkest of night. Your face was covered in blood, still breathing.”

Ramin led me to a chair as I tried to process the timeline of what he just said. Two nights ago – was I sleeping for so long? Why here? Where was I before?

“Two nights?” I asked, but he had already left my side and was by the stove. He had already redirected his attention to his culinary activities. I could not speak louder and get his attention.

I could not get his attention. That feeling; of reaching out and not being heard reminded me of something. Disappointment. I had failed my coven and Starling. Somehow. As much as I could strive to remember more, I could not.

I left the teacup on the table, after sipping its hot and soothing liquid. “How do you know Starling’s Coven?”

“I am here for you,” he responded, “you must be my very first visitor.”

“I have never heard of a safe house in Kərimli,” I said, my head hurting. I drank some more tea, and the pain subsided.

“Well, I do not advertise the Safehouse,” Ramin said jokingly, “but I don’t know Starling personally if that is what you mean.”

That was not suspicious per se. Starling did not make herself available to just anyone. I had only met her briefly myself on two occasions.

“So, what happened?” I asked once again.

He stood uncomfortably across the room, still holding a big ladle. “They did not tell me. They only said that if you heal, you should be able to find the way out. But hey! The wild propaganda of the last weeks has stopped, at least on the radio. No more talking about hunting, you know, Cursed.”

I felt my head hurt. No matter how much I tried, the events were sealed at the back of my mind. “So, I was attacked,” I said, trying to recount what happened. “But who did I whisper…” I wondered in complete confusion, “I remember… a desert. Far away…”

I could feel sand falling on my hands and feet as I was compelled to whisper a message far away. The message I had to relay was in another language, something Latin-sounding.

“I do not know. Look, you can take another sister’s clothes from the wardrobe,” he said uncomfortably, eagerly moving around the kitchen. “And then I am sure, you will figure it out.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” I said calmly. I was sitting in nothing but a robe all this time. That could explain his awkwardness. Still, I could not shake the feeling that something did not add up.

I stood up and found my way to the bedroom again. Searching in the wardrobe, I indeed found some clothes that could fit me, some pants, and a long-sleeved t-shirt, although they appeared old, unused, and their fabric was wrinkled. While I changed, my heart beat faster again.

I did not know where I was or who this man was. He knew Starling, which I guess was a positive sign. But still, there were so many gaps in the story to fill. For starters, why was I so calm?

The cotton clothes wrapped my skin in safety. Coziness. This was a Safehouse. I decided to cut myself some slack. Even if I did not remember what precisely, something horrible must have happened to me that night, and Ramin – whoever that was – had given me refuge, clean clothes, and a chance to heal. I opened the windows of the room and inhaled deeply. The evening breeze mixed with the flower aroma filled my nostrils.

Previously, Nisy encountered a Man of Adil inside what she thought was her safe outpost, a cabin in the fields of the south of Oğuz. While the rest of her Coven fights a battle she knows little about, her adversary forces her to use her Farsight Curse.

40°55’54.0”N 47°30’40.9”E
Oğuz, Azerbaijan
18.05.2024- 22.45 UTC +04.00

His voice was satisfied with my Farsight, and I could tell he saw what I saw, or at least felt my vision crossing borders. But his intentions remained unclear. I could sense a direction. South-west. But so far away from this country or continent, what was even the point? What did a man of Adil want that was not about the fight in the nearby mountains? He must have had a goal, and as my vision flew past darker nights in the west, I decided that I did not care, as long as I tried my best to stop him.

I stretched my hands in front of me, hoping they would pull my mind out of the skies and lead me back to my body.

As if he sensed my resolve, driving me to fight back, I heard the faintest sound of trickling foreign sand. And then I felt grains unfamiliar, from another continent, sipping onto my trembling hands. The lands below me flew by even faster than before, as my Farsight burst uncontrollably past the Middle East, past Qahirə, and into central Africa.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” The world spun, but I could still see. I knew, though, I was not meant to see so far away. “Please do not make me!”

“I’ve been told the Azeri Whispers cannot be matched. Do not disappoint me.” His hand gripped my throat tightly, fingers dangerously caressing my trachea, directing all breath and oxygen to push my Farsight; but none to my vocal cords. The grains of sand trickled past my hands, and I maneuvered my vision to see all corners of the Sahara Desert.

Countries and people I did not recognize, mountains and oases that I could not believe existed. Libya, Algeria? Where did this end?

“Please!” I begged.

He said a phrase in a Roman language, Spanish perhaps, something I could not comprehend.

Ellas tienen la Segunda.

I did not speak or comprehend languages from so far in the West – but something in the last word made my skin shiver, torn by a sense of fear. Fear of calamity.

“Send this whisper.”

“It can kill me!” I cried.

He repeated the phrase. Ellas tienen la Segunda.

It was a short enough message for me to be able to repeat.

I started squirming in his cold hands. He did not relent. I could not know if he possibly even cared, but as my Farsight hovered at the far ends of the African continent, I honestly doubted if I could send a whisper that far.

“Please, at least. Let me hear the rain.”

He did not let go of my throat. But it felt as if he did let go of some of his control. My eyes saw the deserts of Africa, but my ears could listen to the rain in Oğuz, every single droplet, hitting the ground, my cabin’s roof, and the borders of my ward. He had shown some mercy, after all.

I exhaled, surrendering. The vision finally landed in sky-high stone buildings, in a city I did not recognize. The sun burned hotter than I had ever felt, but somewhere in a vault forgotten by the sun, someone lonely and ancient was there waiting to hear my whisper.

My sight had brought me to the farthest ends of the Sahara, thousands of kilometers away. Surely, they could not have possibly ever heard a whisper from so far away.

Ellas tienen la Segunda. I whispered, and I knew I was heard. A hot, viscous liquid started dripping from my nose and ears. Blood, without a doubt.

And trapped under his tough-as-wood fingers, he continued the message, and I repeated his words, a whisper in a tongue I could not comprehend with consequences I could not fathom. I completed the message, as instructed.

But I was not done. A smell reminded me where and who I was: ashes from starling feathers, wet wood, and muddy ground. I channeled all the hexes and enchantments from the candle-burnt feathers. And in a violent return of my Curses, I decided I would disobey. I reversed the route back, and in an instant, I pulled my sight back to the people of Oğuz. Every desperate woman and man, the scared children, all the mortals in Starling’s domain. They prayed, and although I was too weak to hear their words, I knew what they wished for.

The rain sounded louder than ever before; one last pour before the storm ended.

And I had just the time for one last whisper, only for the man responsible for my demise, a wish of doom:

You are to be caged by my ward’s light, for as long as the rain still plans to fall.

His hands let me go, and I fell on the wooden floor. The Farsight ended, and my usefulness to him. Or so I thought.

I opened my eyes, wondering why he had not killed me yet. I looked at the dark-clothed man, whose long braid of hair had appeared out of his headwrap. A veil of scarlet hindered my sight, my blood tears dying the dull cabin in color. I thought I would see him satisfied with his victory, but his eyes behind the mask indicated something new. A fear? A thought?

“What do you want from me? What did this message mean? Why don’t you just kill me and end my pain?” I wanted to ask all those questions. I was unable to. Where his fingers held me before, throat, forehead, and neck, excruciating pain followed. I could barely breathe, as the world around me turned red.

Instead, he asked me a question:

“First, the silence. Then the command. How can you bend and break hexes like that?”

He was short of breath. His question was mixed with shock and relief. As if a new idea had just dawned on him.

I could only breathe heavier by the moment. I did not know what that question meant, nor what he wanted for an answer.

He kneeled in front of me, his hands swiping my hair off my face. “You are not just another bird, are you?”

I raised my hand, grabbing and pulling his cloth mask, hoping I would get to see a quick glimpse of his face before I drifted away. He did not stop me.

But it did not matter. I was ready to go.

✦ ✦ ✦

I could not remember the last time I laughed like this. Flying above the valley of Qəbələ, piercing the clouds and painting them in blue, pink, and gold as the sun reflected on my wings. And all the while, I could not stop laughing.

Up until we finally landed. I had to restrain myself, show I was more than a friend, a teacher, and a mentor.

“Orxan!” I called the young man with whom we had shared a flight. He was trying to control his laughter, standing next to me. He had landed roughly right after I had. It was infectious, and as I saw him, I could not hold back either.

His short hair, oilier and sweatier than usual, was made unruly from the recent flight. He passed his hands through the hair, making it even funnier.

“Can’t an old bird like you laugh?” He asked me. His young eyes shone with silver. They carried a Cursed mutation; it could go unnoticed if you did not know what to look for in men’s eyes, but it was there.

“Watch your tongue. I could be your mother,” I scolded him. I was not exaggerating. He was just nineteen years old, joining the life of the coven way too young. And my duty was to protect him, not play around with Starling’s blessing.

“So, besides the hilarious flight, what was the point of this?” He turned to the north-east, where the mountaintop of Bazardüzü, dressed in white from snow, watched over us. There was no walking path to get there from where we stood, but we could always fly there. Everything belonged to Starling’s domain: the surrounding mountain range, the rivers born and poured into the valley, and the regions we could survey from up here.

“We are watchers, Zephyr,” I told him, “We protect the mortals in Starling’s domain by watching over them. Your Curse will prove much stronger than mine when it comes to Farsight. Your eyes make sure of it.”

In front of us, north Azerbaijan sprawled from the bases of the mountaintops, from Qax to the north-west and Qəbələ to the south-east. If I so desired, my Farsight offered me glimpses and visions of what lay below. I was often tasked to fly to the mountaintops and surveil, since my early days in the coven. It was my task to teach the boy.

“I still can’t see anything but, well, the view,” Orxan said, “and don’t try to make the codename stick.”

“Oh, trust me, it will. They tend to,” I answered, “and if you watch long enough, eventually you will see. You have done it before.” I encouraged him.

We stood there for a while until the wind turned cold and moist. His expression gradually shifted from one of excitement to one of boredom.

“But, Nisy,” he said, his voice deeper and more worried than usual, “when will we finally get the ---.”

His voice distorted as he uttered the last word, the distortion feeling me with dread. An expectation of calamity. He should not know about it yet. Back then, when…

“This is not right. You are not supposed to learn about it yet. I don’t even know about it yet.” I responded to him. A cold sensation gripped my heart; was this a memory, going wrong? Was I dreaming?

My peripheral vision blurred as I walked to him.

“Of course, I don’t know anything about ---,” he said, the last word now something long forgotten. He turned to look at me, and his silver eyes were now fading away, along with the mountaintops.

I was not in the mountains. I was in a warm, red, and golden room. Sitting on a comfortable couch, surrounded but luxurious furniture with intricately woven patterns of birds and pomegranates. I sipped some tea.

“There is no need to. There is no war anymore.” Zephyr’s voice echoed. “There is no war anymore.”

But he was not with me; I was alone.

I laughed. The voice was right. No more war. I inhaled the aroma from the teacup in front of me. It smelled like flowers. It smelled like spring.

✦ ✦ ✦

I awoke carrying the intense smell of flowers and spring with me. Not from my waking time, but from a dream. And for a moment, I could not tell the two apart.

But I was in clean, silken sheets. Real, soft, enveloping me and my sore body. I felt a searing pain in my throat as I tried to yawn, my dream already forgotten. Something about the mountains, and a cabin. Zephyr was there, or was it Zaman? Or a stranger with a platanus leaf. And I had set myself on fire, somewhere in the desert… Nonsense.

I opened my eyes. Beams of a setting sun pierced through curtained windows. This was not my house, although the scent permeating the air invited me to feel at home. My senses were reassuring me: I was safe.

“How…” did I get here, I felt the need to ask myself out loud, but I could not control my voice. I tried to recall, in vain. Yes, I was supposed to be on a mission, ward, and protect. In Oğuz. But protect from what? That, I could not recall.

Pushing my hands against the mattress, I tried to rise but found myself unable to do so, my hands utterly weak to support me.

I huffed, exhausted. What had I done last night? I looked around for an explanation. A note, maybe, or a piece of equipment that would trigger my memories. My eyes got caught trailing branches instead. Painted on the walls of the room I was sleeping in, in red and gold, and green, was a pomegranate tree. Or rather, its branches, painted tangled on the wall. And a pomegranate, drawn with detail and attention, being the single one the painter had chosen to depict…

I was losing focus.

Chapter 11

Stay on Nisy's story in Chapter 18

Bonus Material:

Previously, Nisy was ambushed by a hex of Silence in her outpost in Oğuz and tried to warn her coven, hoping she was not too late. Inside a cabin fortified by her own Curses, she is trying to fight back.

40°55’54.0”N 47°30’40.9”E
Oğuz, Azerbaijan
18.05.2024- 22.40 UTC +04.00

But that also meant the threat was now heading to my coven. I bit my lips. I spat the tobacco and stood up, bracing myself to send the most important whisper of my mission.

Someone is approaching Oğuz, I failed; Nisy.

I whispered once more.

Someone is approaching Oğuz, I failed; Nisy.

This was my failure, mistaking silence for the absence of a threat, and I had to warn the others. I could only hope that at least nobody would –

The candle’s flame snuffed out.

I caught a glimpse in my peripheral vision, a blur, before its light was extinguished. In its stead, a weak stream of smoke waltzed forward, guided by an invisible breeze.

A hollow scream was all I exhaled.

I could produce no sound, no breath, no voice. I started gasping for air; I had released my whisper into the wild for my coven, but now some cold wooden fingers had trapped it in a cage. I breathed, but I had no oxygen. I spoke and had no voice, and all I could think of was: the candle should still be lit with light.

My knees felt weak, but I remained standing. I gathered all the might I had to command my assailant, whoever they were.

“Release me!”

I tread heavy steps towards the table, blind to any other options. And there it was, a breath; not mine, as someone had hexed it away, but another one. It was subtle, but it was there, at the back of my neck. Surrounding me. Holding me.

I stepped forward once more, unable to turn and look behind me.

The television turned on without warning, with a distorted sound. Its silver light highlighted the shadowed corners of the cabin. A distorted man’s voice cracked through weak speakers:

“…has vowed to break the siege around Bakı. Unverified but optimistic sources speak of a Caspian delegation shifting allegiances to free the mainland. These unholy wars shall end. We shall end you.”

The last words lingered a bit longer through the distortion. I reached the table, my breathing stabilizing for a moment.

I lifted my right hand and with all the might I had, I hit it on the table, my fingernails scratching its wooden surface. I scratched up and down with both my hands. I needed the pain in my fingers to wake up my nerves and unplug my lungs. I saw my fingers and palms turn blackish red.

I had to remember that with the feathers I donned, I was a bird of pain.

“A bird of pain. You cannot bend my,” pain I strived to say. The invisible hold crushed my lungs, and I fell over, tumbling onto the floor next to the table.

Lying there, all I could see was the silver light flickering on the wet wooden floor. A floor that no longer creaked, consumed by the very same silence that had snatched my whispers.

“We shall end you.” The voice of the television lingered before it turned off with a sharp ring, filling the room with darkness. I tried to raise my voice, but it was extinguished, only able to beg for the shortest of breaths.

I could not hear the rain anymore. The rain.

I crawled. My legs pushed my body, and my hands shuffled through the floor, flailing, and gathering strength for each push. I could not just lie on the wooden floor. I was Starling’s, and I had my feathers, my candle, and a path to the sky. And that would be enough to reignite all the Curses I needed, if I reached it.

“Please… Light up…” I tried to command the candle from afar. Nothing.

A strict and sharp voice whispered through the silence, annoyed. Angered. It was a familiar one; my coven’s leader.

The mission is at risk. They are here for the bow. Abandon wards; Starling.

Starling’s hissing words carried warning and disappointment. She was failing in the north, just as I was facing my own demise in the south.

I repeat, abandon wards; Starling.

My arm lingered upwards, trying to reach my candle. I felt weaker, as my coven’s leader warned me to abandon the mission. I gasped in realization; this was an intentional mockery. Whoever was silencing whispers in my ward had let this one through on purpose, to reach me and break my spirit. They wanted me to know despair, and surrender. They wanted me to lie down and lose myself, instead of standing up and whispering back. I had to whisper my warning again. Starling’s whispers flooded the cabin.

I repeat, abandon wards; Starling. Abandon. Mission in danger; Starling.

Knowing they were meant to break me, I decided to persist. I reached the wooden wall. I dug my fingernails and climbed, unable to breathe except through short spikes of pain. My enemy’s hold had its limits, and I was about to break them. With a lunge, I sprang up. With a wish, I blew on the unlit candle, which ignited in a golden flame.

I could breathe again, but only for a moment. That moment was all I needed, each millisecond replenishing my will to survive.

I lifted the candle off the windowsill. I could hear again: the crackling of its flame, my heart, my breath. Not everything, but it was a start. I had broken out of the silence hex, and I was ready to fight back.

“Come forth!”

The window burst open, an ominous wind blasting through and then dissipating, leaving only quiet on its tracks. The wind blasted on me, but the candle’s Cursed flame was impervious and burned brighter. My eyes stayed fixed on the scene outside the window.

Heavy rain fell on the orchard, the trees swayed by the wind, so much in contrast with the absence of sound, it felt dream-like. The cloudy sky hid all the stars, leaving only the frequent lightning to illuminate the field.

And as lightning struck, I saw one more tree among the familiar batch, only for a moment. When the next lightning struck, a dark figure stood there, just a few meters away from the cabin’s warding circle. I could not see his face, but he looked like a man, wrapped in dark clothing covering body and face, leaving only a predatory set of eyes.

He was still outside my ward, using his mind tricks to bend me without entering. Would he dare approach? Could he even see past my ward? The cabin should be invisible to the man.

Stay lit only for me, I whispered to the candle, bracing for him, stay lit only for me.

He made a reluctant step backwards. Then, he moved his left hand behind his back, only to bring it to the front again, holding an unnaturally large platanus leaf. A lightning set the world alight like a firework, and the leaf shone greener than the pasture. Its pattern was unmistakable.

A man of Adil. A branched platanus tree – nothing but a vicious trickster. I needed to leave. All men of Adil were combat-trained; I was but a seer.

Starling, bless me and let me fly away, I beckoned to my coven’s leader.

A tickling sensation, starting from my shoulders and tracking around my chest and back, was a sign Starling had listened. The feathers on my coat moved and ruffled by an invisible hand. The transformation was beginning, but the man of Adil had a plan.

He stepped forward, now holding the platanus leaf, until he met the line of sand.

It should not be possible for him to perceive the circle, me, or my ward. That much, I knew.

I was sure.

Whoever he was, he could not simply pass over the invisible divide of my ward. But if he was trained enough in the arts, he also knew there was something unseen right in front of him.

There is no time, I have to take flight, I whispered. I could see myself in my mind’s eye: a golden-black starling, piercing through the clouds. But my eyes could not wander away from the dark figure, now raising his hand and releasing the leaf.

It followed a fast and whimsical gust of wind, unbothered by the rain. My eyes followed it, while the tickling sensation on my shoulders turned into searing pain. Would my wings grow faster than -

The leaf flew darker than my thoughts and right through the window. The sand circle split, and for a moment, golden particles of sand burst in all directions, illuminated by the storm. The platanus leaf flew and reached me. As it touched me, I heard my very own trapped whisper, the one I had sent minutes ago:

Something is approaching Oğuz, I failed; Nisy.

It echoed my voice, distorted and unnatural. Another mockery, reminding me of my utter failure.

A tight grip over sound, tighter than what I had experienced before, held over my chest. The dreadful breath at the back of my neck returned, waiting for me to scream and cage my voice.

I was too late, and Starling’s blessing had now abandoned me. I could sense the feathers shrinking and my coat turning back to all that ever was – a mundane coat. Starling could not reach me to help me anymore; I was outside her domain.

The rain’s downpour intensified once more outside the cabin, and I lamented its silence, as I realized I would never flee through its protection. The pain in my shoulders retreated, my transformation reverting.

My flight as a starling was never meant to be. I was not meant to flee; I was meant to fight or fall.

But what I hated the most was really that, despite all the torrential rain, if this was to be my final night, I would not even hear its sound one last time through the damned hex spread by my assailant.

“Wind broke your wings? Got tangled in the trees?” His voice pierced the silence, taunting me and the air around me, as the only sound permissible.

Cold hands grabbed my neck. He was there behind me again, but this time in person, as the platanus leaf had carried him inside the cabin.

My breathing was now laboring, and my lungs were caged. I wanted to scream, and I couldn’t. I focused my eyes on the only bright thing in front of me: the weak flame of a candle resting in my hands. And I knew, for a brief moment, before my next breath, I was at his mercy. But instead of killing me when he had the chance, he spoke.

“Time to send a whisper for me,” he commanded me, as his silence crept in to dominate my mind.

Fight or fall.

Qığılcım, I whispered with my next breath, and I brought the candle’s flame close to my coat.

The feathers sparked and immediately caught fire, setting the coat ablaze. I felt the flame’s warmth, but not its threat. I illuminated the cabin in gold as I set myself on fire, making me impossible to hold.

His cold hands let me go.

The moment of opportunity I sought. I lunged forward, then turned to look back at my adversary. My feather coat was still ablaze with a flame that could not dare hurt me. Although now the coat was ruined, no longer fit to let me flee by flight.

“Begone, tree, lest the fire consume your leaves,” I said, panting. I could still not tell much of him, covered as he was in tight dark brown clothing, padded with leather on his chest. His face was hidden by a cloth, leaving only his light-colored eyes to cast an expression of surprise. But I was sure he was a man of Adil, with the signature use of the platanus blessings.

I took a step back, as he remained crouched, stalking me like a wild cat ready to pounce. I expected that pounce – but he slowly rose from a battling posture. The light of my burning coat quickly diminished, running out of flammable feathers.

When the flames flickered, he was gone. Where he stood before, a lone platanus leaf suspended in the air in front of me. The leaf was a means of his transport. A blessing by his master, much like the wings of Starlings by mine. The leaf floated, levitated almost.

“Tell Adil to stay out of Oğuz!” I said.

It was a short shout before a blanket of silence enveloped the cabin again. I was mistaken. He was far stronger than I was. My flaming trick was a surprise, but not an attack, and he simply maneuvered to strike back again. He was not done with me: cold, calculated fingers rested upon my forehead.

“No…” I begged with a trembling voice. He had spawned behind me and had caught me once more.

“Show me how far you can see,” his voice echoed in my head, and my eyes shut, driven by his command.

My Farsight Curse awoke, spurred by his words. My eyes were closed, but like a bird, I was riding the wind, equipped with an all-knowing gaze from above. Guided by the rain and the clouds clashing – I could sense the people of Daymadere and listen to the prayers in Kərimli, all the good people in Oğuz praying for the covens to end their clash. People gathered in a school nearby, hoping no battle would draw near. Children screaming with each thunder, and parents struggling to console them, knowing full well storms were the least thing they should fear when Cursed armies clashed.

My heart weighed above them. What was the point of my Curse, if all I could do was observe? I did not understand the war we were in anymore, and neither did the people of the land.

My Farsight lingered over the lost people of the region, and it felt as if my captor hesitated before issuing his next command.

“Show me further!” He was in control. I tried to ground myself by heeding the people’s prayers and forcing the vision to end. It was pointless. “Further!” His voice deepened.

I gasped, enthralled by the challenge. I obeyed.

My Farsight knew no bounds, and he was pushing them. Past Gəncə and past the mountains of Kəlbəcər, into Ermənistan, into new lands past Ankara and Bağdad, deserts I could not recognize anymore. I was in awe of my own Cursed sight, despite the searing hot tears bursting through my closed eyes.

“You can go further. You are strong enough.”

Chapter 8

Stay on Nisy's Story in Chapter 10

Previously, Nisy had fortified herself in her enchanted outpost while her Coven attempted a crucial mission in the north of the region. An ominous whisper from an unknown sender warned her of Shadows, and that prompted her to reach out to the rest of her Coven.

40°55’54.0”N 47°30’40.9”E
Oğuz, Azerbaijan
18.05.2024- 22.30 UTC +04.00

40°55’54.0”N 47°30’40.9”E
Oğuz, Azerbaijan
18.05.2024- 22.30 UTC +04.00

Starling’s whisper echoed in the wind. Each time, the words were pronounced hollower, more distorted. Impatient.

Is the South secure?

Is the South secure?

Is the South secure?

Starling.

She was not the kind of person to approach unprepared. I wished I had kept my whispers more targeted.

She was also not one to leave unanswered.

I believe so. I will investigate; Nisy.

I felt her enquiring breeze dissipating. She had other matters to attend to, after all.

Leaning on the table, exhausted from the whispering, I picked up one of the readily made cigarettes. Brimming with tobacco, I tightened the paper as I sat on the wooden chair. I placed it on my mouth, and its end lit per my wish. I inhaled the smoke and kept its aroma tucked inside my lungs. The nicotine rushed into them and flooded my bloodstream as I kept the burning smoke inside me, fueling me for the next round of hexes.

I shut my eyes. I could only keep the smoke inside me for so long, but that smoke acted as an accelerant for my Farsight.

A trick he had taught me, if I ever needed to visit his ward. If I ever need to bring familiar scents with me and bypass his protective Curses.

Kaz? I am here. I need counsel.

I was not really in body, but I was in a breeze. My eyes kept closed, I could see Far: the cabin around me was different, a new outpost. Humid, dark, the aroma of wood and tobacco replaced by the musk of mold and lichen. Farsight. A vision of his cavern in the northwest part of the Caucasus Mountain Range near Şəki. Another outpost like mine.

Kaz? Where are you?

Every breath I used to call him was replaced with smoke, the oxygen in my blood depleting. I could not do that for long. The smoke trick bypassed his carefully placed hexes, letting me visit as a friend. But he was not there to greet me.

His desk was empty. His cloak was left behind, starling feathers strewn by hands elder than mine. And the cavern’s mouth let the rain of the storm in, a storm already in full brewing in the west. A thunder struck in the vicinity.

Kaz, where have you gone?

Thunder struck again, closer this time. And in a flash of light, it snapped me out of the Farsight. Just in time to avoid suffocation.

I inhaled the oxygen desperately, part of me enjoying the rush of having maximized the nicotine. I inhaled, again and again, panting in between. Until I could spell the words.

“Has he abandoned post? Or is he out, looking for something?”

One of the many seers placed to guard the region, one I trusted dearly, was missing in action. And I had to make a call: was it safe to step out of my ward to investigate?

The window lit up as lightning hit brighter than I thought, having no thunder to follow. The storm was not only in Şəki, but had reached Oğuz as well.

I stood up; my mind was made up, even if the call felt risky.

I reached for my coat. It had feathers strewn on its shoulder pads and around the neck, iridescent feathers of starlings, all offered by the willing birds of the region. I had sewn them myself when I had first joined Starling’s Coven. We were meant to always wear the coat while in Starling’s domain, to remain connected with her, with the Coven, and receive her protective charms. Its sight reminded me that Kaz himself had left his starling coat behind.

“So, he could not have flown away,” I deduced.

I would have to check on him again, but only once I had an answer for Starling. She had asked if the South was safe, just after unsigned whispers had warned me of Shadows.

I caressed the feathers and felt the rough material below the coat. No matter the justification, this felt like a uniform to inspire respect, but even more so to intimidate. And hence it felt unfitting to wear while I was in my own Curse’s ward, meant to protect and hide. Devised to stay small, stay unnoticed.

But now I had to step out, and I’d better don it. Its fabric prickled against my skin, and the feathers stung near my shoulder blades. Its enchantments were nesting on me.

Next, I picked up the unlit candle waiting for me next to the window. I grabbed a pinch of the enchanted sand and blew it over the candle’s wax, adding a flair of the sun’s protection to my next whisper.

Stay lit only for me.

The candle sparked to a light red flame, carrying the warmth and protection of the warded house with me.

Another lightning illuminated the cabin from the window, just before I would leave through the door. The line of crystalline sand sparkled in its light. It was the same sand that lined the windows, encircled the whole cabin, passing even right outside the door, dividing my safe ward from the rest of the world.

I carefully stepped over the sand circle.

I felt a slight tingle as I crossed it, and I held the candle closer to my abdomen. I looked around as far as my sight could reach. I turned left and gazed at the uphill fields extending to the north. Then I turned my head to the right. The warning had come from the south, downhill from inside the orchard, or beyond even. I treaded carefully around the cabin, not stepping too far away from the circle of sand reflecting my candle’s light.

“Where are you?” I wondered.

In the night’s darkness, the hazelnut trees merged into a maze of shadows reaching their limbs towards the cabin and me. Even so, nothing as mundane as foliage could block my sight. If I so wished, I could see till the far corners of the valley, in a way not all Cursed could see. Farsight was one of my Curses, and far I could see, had I had the right implements.

The candle had proven a formidable carrier of my hexes. And yet… Nothing. No Shadow or Man of Adil. I decided it was time to report back to Starling. She had waited long enough, and I did not want to test her patience.

I can see till the lights of Daymadere and hear the laughs and worries in Kərimli, but I sense no shadow; Nisy.

I sang the whisper, letting the slight breeze carry the waves of my voice. I found it easier to sing to the wind when I was outdoors. It was yet another trick I had learned to master, diminishing the strain in my vocal cords. This time, I did not weep.

I lingered there by the cabin, two steps away from the warding circle of sand. I let my gaze drift to the clouds above, climbing north. I shivered, as if the static buildup of the storm had reached me as well. Another lightning strike in the distance signaled the coming storm. Perhaps Starling herself had orchestrated the night so, letting the elements provide cover for…

We now hold the bow; Starling.

A victorious whisper, followed by tens more. I had to focus on listening to the ones that mattered, to the names that ringed most familiar:

Secure the bow; Starling.

Northern wards, retreat to the West; Zephyr.

Stay vigilant Nisy; Hokumə.

Eastern teams fall to cover. Regroup to the West; Zephyr.

Investigate further, Nisy; Hokumə.

Starling had ignored my report, but Hokumə was listening. And she was insisting. Kaz had not reached out – where was he? I looked behind my back, at the safety of the cabin and the warding circle.

I stepped further into the orchard. “Damn it.”

With every step, I strayed deeper into silence among trees.

I thought that since that mysterious bow was in our hands, as Starling claimed, Zephyr would have ordered the southern seers like me to evacuate to the west, as he had done with the others. But he did not.

Looking behind me, I was now a few meters away from my ward. I brought the candle closer:

Stay lit only for me.

Every leaf moving around me made my eyes dart. Every branch bending as the wind blew, every silent movement. My eyes widened as I let my Cursed Farsight pierce through everything in the surrounding fields.

Nisy – any progress? Zephyr.

There was no explanation for these roaming whispers. If there were a man of Adil or a Shadow hiding in the area, I should have seen or heard them. Instead, absolute silence. If a butterfly tripped over the sand of my ward, I would hear it. If a…

Oğuz will fall.

A whisper arrived, unsigned again, sent by a foreign voice. And then again.

Oğuz will fall.

Oğuz will fall.

The same mysterious origin, the same raspy voice. Was that a threatening whisper by an enemy taunting us? Standing outside, exposed, warded only by a candle, I felt unease. Something had happened.

Zephyr, I hear nothing- I almost whispered but held back my words, tied them into my tongue before releasing them to the breeze.

I had just realized the verity of what I was about to say.

The rain blew against the dark trunks and leaves of the hazel trees around me. Among them, a tall persimmon tree reflected light as lightning crackled far into the sky, no thunder following it, perhaps taunting the storm to be struck itself as well. I could still see and feel the rain around me falling, as it did in fact the whole night.

But there was no sound, no music from the drops. A sound so faint, my ears had assumed it granted.

I extended my left hand while I held the candle with the right still near my chest. I felt the droplets of rain touch my skin, and as they bounced on my hand, their vibration created no sound. My eyes then scoured the ground around me, as frequent drops wet the ground around me, again, without sound.

The silence was supernatural, Cursed.

“This is a silence hex,” I concluded, quickly bringing my left hand closer to my candle. Its light protected me from whatever hex was cast across the field, and I still had my voice. But the orchard around me had gone silent. The branches bent silently, without creaking. The foliage shifted, worn by the wind, but Cursed to be mute.

Lightning – coming closer – responded, illuminating and casting color on the trees. No thunder followed.

Someone, a Cursed no doubt, had cast a hex so wide and powerful that it covered the territory like a sheet of calm. If I were to disturb it too much, it could easily overwhelm me, and I would never manage to head back to my warded cabin, nor warn the rest of the coven.

I headed back with slow, steady steps. Luckily, whispers appeared unaffected. I had received plenty. And I had no choice on the matter: I had to warn the other wardens.

Zephyr, Zaman, Kaz fear the silence; Nisy.

I tried to whisper as quietly as possible, each word intentionally cut short just enough not to disturb the surrounding hex. If I was lucky, whoever was around had not detected me yet.

The candle flickered as my words spread wings and rode the breeze around it.

Zephyr, Zaman, Kaz fear the silence; Nisy.

I kept repeating my warning as I took small steps, hearing nothing but my whispers. In the absence of reliable hearing, my eyes darted from tree to tree as I walked past them, waiting for an omen of threat. The silence was deafening, and my whispering echoed in my head, trying to recapture the void left behind.

I repeated the message again and again, as I walked in the silent rain. No more singing or techniques – I just had to hope my message could still pass through this hex.

I reached the circle around my cabin. I sighed at its sight: it was undisturbed, and it glinted golden as I approached. I stepped over it, and the moment I did, the sound of the rain smoothly blended into the backdrop as it should.

Whoever Cursed, they had not broken my ward. Or they never intended to. Before I entered the cabin, I looked back at the orchard, and I realized that from the inside, I would never have noticed anything. Once more, I sent my warning to the rest of the wardens around Oğuz:

Zephyr, Zaman, Kaz fear the silence; Nisy.

I opened the door to get inside. The dusty interior, the disorganized shelves, the old analog television, and the piles of tobacco on the table were not a welcome sight anymore. After knowing a threat was looming outside, the cabin had turned from refuge into a cage. I hated it.

Well, not tobacco. I did not hate that. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.

I strategically chose not to hang my coat. In case I were in danger, I would have to escape quickly. Using its Cursed blessings, foreign and uncomfortable as they were, was my only form of escape. I locked the door and stashed its key in my left pocket. I walked to the window, and I left the candle next to it, not extinguishing its flame just yet. It would go out on its own after a few hours, but its light could lift my spirits for a while.

I sighed. I had failed. My mind wandered.

On the days that Zaman had been here, we would stroll together, surveying the fields, marking with warding enchantments appropriate corners and bird nests. It was an exhausting and thorough exercise, better done in pairs. Since he had left, I had only ventured once to retrieve the sand, and not a moment had arrived that I had longed for a walk.

Now I only wanted to run, abandon the post, abandon everything. This fight, this war, this…

Do you really think this plan of hers will end this fight?

His recent words echoed. I could almost see him desperately waiting for a positive answer, sitting across the table. What was I thinking? I could not run away.

I headed to the table to grab some tobacco. I started chewing.

I had failed – whatever happened, I was deceived in my ward. There was no other way to see it. Part of me hoped the person who cast that hex had passed and left without a trace. Maybe, they did not sense me as much as I did not sense them, remaining mutually undetected.

I could only hope the silence was the aftermath and not the introduction.

Chapter 5

Stay on Nisy's Story in Chapter 7

“Günəşlə arınmış. Purified by the sun. Ready to be tainted once more,” I said, picking up the glass container. The sand in it, it reflected the light golden, and the glass in turn diffracted green auras onto its surface. “You rested for days in the light. That should suffice.”

I sighed, hoping my whisper found fertile soil in its contents, and the green light was not just the hazel trees’ green mirrored in it. And they were lush this time of the year, full of green stems ready to bear hazelnuts.

I looked around me as I picked up the container. Lowly cherry bushes lined my path through the orchard, with fruit still yellow, too early to be tasted. I could even pick up a faint undertone of a creamy scent, undoubtedly from the persimmon trees, mixing with the smell of the soil after the rain, the only indicator that it had rained through the day, as the thirsty land had absorbed all moisture in a matter of hours. I knew more rain would follow later tonight, and although I could not spot the yellow persimmon flowers among the thick hazel trees that dominated the orchard, I kept my eyes open for them.

What was I even thinking?

Perhaps it was easier to think of flowers in spring, natural. Easier than thinking of storms brewing.

The southern breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around me, and the rustling sound made my skin crawl. I stopped walking, calmly examining the trees around me. I knew the dangers that could lurk behind every single one of them. Every tree. I looked for leaves that did not match their shape, fruit that looked foreign, and roots that were larger than they meant to be. Or for trunks that could hide predators.

It was only a precaution. No man of Adil should have reached this orchard. I was too far away from the action.

“No Man of Adil is welcome here,” I said, with an admitted lack of bravery, but still spoke the words. I continued walking. But every time the southern breeze blew, I took it as a warning. A reminder of Gilavar, the southern wind from my times in the Caspian Sea.

I followed the cherry path to the center of the orchard, and the trees thinned out to reveal a structure of wood and hope; hope that it would hold for one more night. A farmer’s cabin, in all its mundanity and otherwise unassuming size, was my outpost for the past few days, and most critically for tonight, assigned after careful planning of my coven. It barely had essentials like electricity or water, relying on a generator and rations. But it had to hold, and the sand I carried only added to that hope.

I heard a bird flutter its wings, and the southern breeze shifted to a western wind, briefly, but just enough. I stood, waiting for his message.

Whispers reached me: Zaman is with Starling already. Which means you wait alone, Nisy. Are you okay over there? Orxan.

The message carried by the wind, a Whisper, was sent by Orxan. Every Whisper had to be signed at the end, to tell the voice by which it was whispered apart from foreign intentions. I channeled my Curse and whispered back, using his western wind to carry a long message as an answer.

Are you worried about your old teacher, little Zephyr? If you are, maybe turn to the orchards, once in a while, tonight, from your mountaintop; Nisy.

I smiled. His having taken a moment to look over me warmed my heart a bit. We both knew he would not have the energy or time to care for me tonight. It was a courtesy message to his mentor, the woman who taught him to be greater, in case things went wrong.

The Shadow Militia retreated far towards Qobustan. You should be safe. She wants to finish this. Tonight; Orxan.

“So be it,” I said, not responding to the whisper.

My palms felt the heat from the glass vase, reminding me I still had work to do. Still scorching from the enchantments and empowered by the sun’s rays throughout the days, it was my only ally tonight. With Zaman gone, I would be alone that night, even if Zephyr decided to blow.

✦ ✦ ✦

The rain raged when the sun set, and it damned its force against the cabins’ walls and windows. I listened to it and the crackling audio from an old analog television, the only company and source of white noise around me. And I kept my eyes closed.

“…reports speak of further clashes in the Oğuz District. State forces recommend remaining within designated areas. Sanctioned wards have been established.”

I opened my eyes again. I was far enough from whatever the news thought was happening in Oğuz, at the far end of the district’s border. Smoke from dozens of by then long-gone cigarettes stood still inside the room, circling the roof like a murmuration of birds.

“How fitting,” I said, lost in the haze of the aftermath of my Curses. I had to regain strength and focus. But all I could think of was the smoke swirling, like birds of prey. “Birds of pain,” I sighed.

Regardless, its sight calmed my nerves, as a reminder of the rush of nicotine from the last pack of tobacco I had finished.

I pressed on the television remote and turned the television off, only to find the noise of the old cabin creaking even more noticeable, as wind and rain forced themselves upon its walls. I tried to zone it out. Stressing about the storm would not calm me down.

I wished Zaman were still here. That southerner had his quirks, but he was better company than my own mind, ruminating on my vulnerability as I sat alone in a dusty cabin.

“Do you really think this plan of hers will end this fight?”

He had asked me a day ago. We had been sitting across from each other at the same table. Only the sunshine was pouring in from outside, instead of rain and wind. He was a little bit older than me, and he had seen his fair share of bloodshed in the past years to know the answer.

“It will speed it up, if anything,” I had said to him.

“And then maybe we go back to the Isles. Maybe the Caspians won’t mind us then.”

“Or maybe there will be no Caspians left, if they decide to take a stance against her.”

“Against us, then. Isn’t that how war works, sister?”

“I hadn’t pinned you down as sentimental. Do you really miss those days at the Isles?”

He had nodded decisively—more than I had ever seen him before.

We all missed those days, and I felt that deep in my bones, sitting on my own. Zaman had gone to the north to fight alongside Starling and the rest of the coven.

I was left behind, guarding the southern border of the district. I was supposed to report the second anything passed by my warded cabin. Send whispers to the breeze. And even though I was far from the center of the action, there was risk in my position.

The sun and its light were gone, and my Curses craved light. The night had fallen hours ago. If any of Adil’s men were to approach, I was at my most vulnerable.

But I had to remind myself that the bet was exactly that: none of them would ever think to head so far away from the action to look for lost whispers. And that’s all I did there. Pass on whispers. Gaze into the night sky. Stay inside. I had nothing to worry about.

I reached for the remote control and turned the television on again. Its weak signal flickered the image in black and white. A man dressed in a tuxedo with a loose tie and protective gear was standing in front of the town hall of Oğuz. His helmet added a comical relief to the image, mostly because it would be useless if he were ever in danger from what he feared.

“And we are indeed safe. Do not let this rainy night shake you. There are no Qarğışlı in Oğuz. Reports of skirmishes and fights have reached İmişli, but have already stopped there. Sleep tight.” He said, adding dramatic flair just before his sound faded out and a round of commercials took over the transmission.

Qarğışlı. That was how they called us. Cursed. Every language had its own word, but this was the one assigned to us in this land. We had no choice in it. The word was placed upon us, but we had accepted it as our own. And now, they feared us.

“There are no Cursed, huh?” I said to myself. “I bet.”

Even though all windows were shut, the curtains of the northern-facing window shifted. A light breeze reached me, carrying the faint smell of persimmon, as whispers from far away, warnings of my coven from around Oğuz, tickled my ears. The first was a command, not meant for me, but meant for all.

It is time. Reach for the bow; Starling.

As the whisper sang, I repeated it and passed it along. A whisper from Starling had to be heard across the coven.

It is time. Reach for the bow, says Starling; Nisy.

Every whisper was a duty. I glanced over at my feather robe, hanging at the entrance of the cabin.

Approaching from the west; Hokumə.

The second whisper was a response, undoubtedly meant to confirm they were close to reaching the objective.

“Hokumə. You are happy with all this, aren’t you?” She was one of the witches-in-lead for the coven. I was not a fan of her and her ways, but Starling was.

Approaching from the west says Hokumə; Nisy.

I passed the whisper along. Part of me hoped that I would get an update from Orxan. That was selfish of me. I had chosen to reject a strategic position, and he did not, and yet I craved learning what he knew. And I knew nothing. For the first time in my years in Oğuz, I was in the dark about today’s purpose, except for it being grand. A coveted object would finally be obtained, a weapon of sorts. The bow. Whatever that was, I assumed it was not just a bow. I gazed out the window at the orchard. A thunderstorm was brewing in Agdash as well, judging by the occasional lightning visible even through the transparent curtains. I did not look further and turned my attention back to the patches of tobacco on the table. I had enough to worry about our own storms to worry about the front in Agdash.

Shadows are approaching from the south of Oğuz.

A single raspy whisper flew in. I did not recognize the voice, and it was unsigned. But the South was where I was. I froze for a moment and then leaned over the table in front of me. I spat some of the tobacco I had just started chewing. I closed my eyes and let my Farsight wander about the orchards.

I saw roots, leaves, and trees. I saw fur and tails of rodents and jackals. I saw humans, mortals without Curses, scurrying off and huddling in groups in communal buildings. But I saw no Shadow.

It was my turn to send a whisper:

No shadows here; Nisy.

My eyes swelled and cried as I whispered. Whispering for so many hours, through day and night, especially at night for me, took a toll, but I was confident my senses were intact. I had sensed nothing nearby, especially not Shadows. I stood up from my chair and I repeated, sending my whisper out to whoever could hear me:

No shadows near my ward; Nisy.

I waited patiently for no response. That made me uneasy. So many of Starling’s around – and no one else had heard the exchange?

“Shadows here? So far from Bakı?” I wondered out loud. I raised my hand and brought my hand to caress my throat – the strain from all the whispering was hurting my vocal cords.

“Why would shadows be here?” I said to myself, approaching the nearby window and looking, shifting the curtains to see outside. It was facing the north – the lights of the houses of the village of Daymadere decorated the horizon past the orchard.

Fine grains of sand I had picked up earlier during the day were carefully, and still wholly undisturbed, lining the window’s edge. They were meant to enhance my ward’s protection during the night.

I closed my Cursed eyes once more to scan again past the hazelnut orchard. Agricultural and industrial fields expanded until my sight reached Daymadere. Clouds had covered the sky, with only a few of the brightest stars being periodically visible. The moon, a waxing gibbous, was hidden behind dark, ominously welcome for Curses clouds. Whispers flew past my eyes:

We have the bow; Starling.

We are delayed in the west; Hokumə.

More whispers from the north. My allies were exchanging them; none of them referred to shadows. I added to the whispers, before opening my eyes once more.

Who spoke of shadows? Nisy.

In theory, I was trained to sense them – or at least I should be able to do so if they approached the ward. But there was no sign, no omen.

Did Zephyr not already confirm earlier that Shadows had retreated to the East? Back to Bakı?

Who spoke of shadows? Nisy. I whispered again, looking out the window.

Rain fell silently on the ground and on the hazelnut trees’ leaves, shuffling them imperceptibly.

“Why are they not coming back to me?”

Whispering in a coven of Cursed sometimes felt like talking through a broken radio: voices were not clear, nor direction or intention.

Who spoke of shadows? Nisy.

I extended my last whisper again to the entire coven. I headed back to the table and held on to it as a fit of dizziness disoriented me. Only Starling came back:

Is the South secure? Starling.

The head of the coven had picked up my worried whispers and posed a question I could not answer. I had spent hours whispering far away, but this secretive warning was the very first to reach me.

Rain droplets landed on the south-facing window. I watched them as clouds gathered faster; a storm was approaching the fields down the hill.

Stay on Nisy's story in Chapter 4

Chapter 2